


In the Middle

by Mockingbird (Poisoned_Woodpecker)



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Destroy Ending, F/F, History exploration, Lot of headcanons welp sorry, Post-Game
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-30
Updated: 2015-09-21
Packaged: 2018-01-27 14:22:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 32,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1713782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Poisoned_Woodpecker/pseuds/Mockingbird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The war's over, but the mess is still left behind. Kasumi finds herself among the wreckage with unexpected companions and questions that seem almost impossible to answer for. Life keeps moving forward, however, and the surprises it leaves behind aren't always pleasant ones.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes:** I've been struggling with this revision for a while, back when it was just a 3 AM idea, and it didn't have a story that came with it. It's also the first time in quite a few years that I've bothered to send a fanfic out to a larger audience, not since back in the ff.net days when you still talked to the fictional characters (I don't miss that part.) ...That said, I could probably benefit from a beta reader. Who knows. Anyway, enjoy.

 

\-- 

 

   It was over. Weeks ago the meaning had been so terrifying that when she went looking in the mirror that very night, Kasumi had almost forgotten who she was. Maybe she had. So many thoughts raced through her mind of the impossible, the surreal, and the broken, choked sobs she'd catch from coworkers down the hall. It was all over, but the demons stayed. 

  
     She wouldn't consider herself a religious person. The concept of a god was so completely lost on her, of vague emotions and presences that she may have touched as a child, but were so meticulously cut when the galaxy crashed around her. A god didn't throw a child out in the streets, left to fend for itself among monsters and maliciousness that it couldn't even begin to understand until they were older, and knew what was wrong with people without having to experience it the hard way. There was something irrevocably broken about people. Natural imperfection.

  
     It was perhaps that flaw that helped people shape their roles in life, rather than the concept of God that people felt comfortable with. It was the only way she could explain how that one flaw. That one, little habit she had of taking what wasn't hers kept her alive. When the batarians came, dragging her and her sister out of their little hiding spot to be executed for being too scrawny, one of those soldiers realized the connection-- the too expensive jewelry box in her bedroom. Instead of having her life end right there, she would listen to the shot that splintered through her sister's skull, felt the blood splatter against her arm as the little girl slumped forward, all too quiet. Then hot, piercing pain at the back of her own head. 

  
     Even now, her fingers dug in the back of her head, trying to exercise some comfort out of the phantom pain and the awkwardness of having so many people staring at her. This was a mistake. Weeks of trying to find answers and the sudden apathy that afflicted her, and she forced herself into a tight-knit shuttle on the way to Earth, a place she had sworn she would never set foot on for more than a few days at a time not so long ago. It wasn't any personal sting, but the distance the mere thought of Earth created inside of her. It held no meaning, other than the wistfulness that her parents had occasionally used, further displaced by the bitterness and resentment her former masters had used in quiet evening conversations that she wasn't supposed to listen to but always did.

  
     There was a debt there that she didn't know how to pay, and this was the best answer she could come up for it. The stares didn't make things any better. Cramped to the brim in a tiny shuttle like this, and she was the only fucking human on board. A turian and asari sat across from her, chattering quietly amongst themselves, brushing shoulders and hips. The turian had gray plates with blue streaks across her chin and cheeks, dressed in a simple jacket and pants combo that was fairly simple for the trip. Though the asari was far from the soldier persona with the way she seemed to flirt with the turian, she immediately recognized the light commando armor on her. Perhaps she asked her matriarch to be here. Or maybe she was dead. After what happened to Thessia, both were strong possibilities. 

  
     A volus sat to their right, having a confusing conversation with a red salarian she vaguely recognized from somewhere, but not nearly enough for a name to come up or any real concern. Though the terms they spoke of were growing more and more technical, she wondered briefly just how much was being covered up by the way the salarian kept nervously stealing glances at her. Aside from the scars on the salarian's face, they weren't particularly noticeable-- especially with the krogan and the batarian at the couple's other side that seemed to make a point not to look at anything in particular. The krogan was oddly reminiscent of the one that Shepard used to know-- Wrex. All scarred to shit too, though with a earthly tone to him. And the batarian, boy did he look nervous. Jittery knees, and the attire that he wore was intricate, his jacket filled with patterns that she recognized from old ancient texts. It was almost a treat to have a priest with them, but his stares were almost too uncomfortable to handle. Too much worry in them, like there was something he was trying to hide.

  
     Only people who seemed to be ignoring her was the drell that sat to her left, who was rather preoccupied with a datapad in her hands. As far as Kasumi could tell, there was nothing particularly interesting about it, though if things grew quiet enough she could hear her cackling at its contents in a quiet, raspy voice. Then the turian male in the corner, arms crossed and leaning back as he stared at the couple across from her. His face looked tired, though it was hard to tell. Turians were always really hard to tell, and there was a rather large elcor next to her blocking the way most of the time. Perhaps because he was defying physics by sitting on the bench, or that elcor beady eyes were always sort of uncomfortable, he made her the most nervous. Even with the distance, she could feel herself wanting to squirm. 

  
     Instead she pulled the hood over her jacket and ignored the nakedness she felt without the catsuit, safely tucked away with other provisions in the bag on the rack above her. The security of the coat she wore, light and slimming, secured with a zipper, provided little to how exposed she felt. It wasn't her first time out of the catsuit in public, but it was a rarity that she would be out of it for so long. And maybe she stood out a tad on the shuttle, however unintentional it might've been. 

  
     Maybe they thought she was a veteran. Was she? The question was a difficult one to answer. She could never claim to be the same sort of soldier that saved them all, her friends... her family, but there was something that still called her to this place, as if it was her own home, as if she felt for the broken remains that used to be towering cities. This had never been about grief though.

  
     Her thoughts were cut short by the cockpit door sliding open, and the slow methodical steps of heels clacked against the metal floor. It didn't rouse much out of Kasumi, and hadn't bothered to look in the direction of the sound. She knew there were 12 of them, including herself and the pilot that was operating the shuttle-- another salarian with green skin and a little weight on him-- so it was likely as anything that it was the missing member. What did give her pause though was how the heels stopped right by her, just a few inches from her right knee. Kasumi chanced a peek up and received quite the surprise.

  
     "Consort?"

  
     Sha'ira's smile was thin and vague, blue eyes bright with a knowing gleam that she had always seen in the asari. The somber atmosphere and rather plain clothing everyone else wore only seemed to make her stand out more in the oranges and reds of her dress, a halter with a gold trim wrapped around her middle. She seemed to take her acknowledgement as an invitation and perched herself in the empty space between Kasumi and the elcor. "I can be on my way if you wish," she began carefully, "however you seem rather..."

  
     "Out of place?"

  
     "Uncomfortable. Do you feel out of place?"

  
     Kasumi snorted, though there wasn't anything particularly funny about it. This wasn't her home, but the pull was still there, and she didn't know how to get rid of it. How to get rid of the sickening churn in her stomach about how quickly she lost so much. "Coming from the colonies tends to do that I think." The shuttle pitched and shuddered for a moment, and Kasumi had to grip the edge of the bench to steady herself. Sha'ira seemed to barely notice it. "Isn't it a bit strange to have the consort on a ship like this?"

  
     "What makes you think that?"

  
     She paused for a moment, struggling to answer. "... You could afford a private shuttle, I'd imagine," she said, "And... I'm not sure we'll be administering to many living people while we're down there." Sure official orders were to help refugees, but they were setting down in London, which had turned into a ghost city since the war started and was decimated by the final battle. More likely than not, they would be finding dead bodies, assuming they weren't turned into cannibals or husks in the meantime.

  
     "Quite the job." And Kasumi caught onto her meaning immediately. It wasn't about the victims already there. "It is just as well though. I may not be a consort much longer."

  
     "And why is that?" She knew about her retiring a year and a half ago, when she was onboard the Normandy. Though Shepard had remained preoccupied by the constant needs of the civilian populace on the Citadel, Kasumi had kept an eye on the news feeds. It was necessary for her job, to make sure there weren't any stunning exclusives pertaining to her, and while looking through the extranet, she had caught word of the consort's leave on the Citadel. However, long after the war started, when she was visiting Shepard's apartment, she had heard of her return in the Citadel's high-class, having attended the charity ball that Shepard broke into.

  
     "If you are comfortable with the question, what brings you here?"

  
     Ah, so she wasn't ready to answer. It was something to keep in mind. "A debt."

  
     "To the Alliance?"

  
     "To a friend."

  
     Sha'ira's smile grew a little wider, satisfied with the answer given to her. Kasumi wasn't sure why. Death was simple to understand, she supposed, whether or not it wrecked the mind. They were gone, and there was nothing that could be done about it. Shepard was someone that came back though. Rose from the dead, pissed and ready to murder, and ho boy, did she. But she was gone now, so it didn't matter, and it'd be sorta creepy if she managed it twice. "The others seem to enjoy your presence."

  
     Even the elcor looked away at that and would've proceeded it with an awkward cough if it was capable of covering its own mouth. At least, Kasumi'd like to think so. "If that's what you want to call it." It was more about being spectators. There was something about watching people break that they all wanted to see. Who could last the longest? It gave some satisfaction, she thought, of knowing that they weren't alone, but still stronger than those that suffered the same pain. It was never like that for Kasumi though, not usually. Reminders were uncomfortable after spending so much time trying to stuff it all down. If it wasn't thought about, it was easier to manage. "I don't like to be here just to make people feel better."

  
     "We have very little choice on the matter," Sha'ira sighed as if content for it to be what it was, "People see you and believe that you can provide something they cannot.... however correct or incorrect that assumption may be."

  
     "Seems like something you'd be more skilled in."

  
     "Perhaps."

  
     Kasumi gave her an odd look. "Why think otherwise?"

  
     She didn't respond, only giving her a strained, cryptic smile as the shuttle shuddered once more, making its final descent to the surface.

  
  
\--

  
     In truth, it wasn't the first to met she met Consort Sha'ira, if scouting her office and home was something one could call "meeting." No one that knew her occupation could blame her for the deed, as Sha'ira was on par with Aria when it came to power by sheer influence. She saw any and all the top-notch citizens of the Presidium, from your run-of-the-mill ambassador to rumors speculating that Councilor Tevos was a regular on the premises. Through her words alone, she could command the most steadfast and stubborn general into action or calm the most volatile rage stirring inside a person. And that was before she had managed to visit the place. 

  
     Her reputation had preceded her, and Kasumi had been tempted by it. Someone who could sway so many hearts was bound to have their fair share of suitors and plenty of prized possessions that could go to... better use.  And really, it was so easy to slip in. The security was minimal at best, the worst of which just being a security camera that took no more than thirty seconds to take care of-- one of the more surprising things about the trip. Though the consort had the power to change minds, it wasn't always an easy path-- especially if the change was unwanted. People were easy to resort to anger and defensive actions, and some were much more virulent than others, whether it be premeditated revenge, or simply heat of the moment. A place like that should have had C-sec on speed-dial, that, the moment something went wrong, C-sec would be breathing down their necks within a hair-breath's moment. 

  
     Nope. Just a simple trip through the air ducts, and just waiting for Sha'ira to turn around. What happened after that, well. Kasumi was willing to admit that she had the habit of watching people. Sha'ira certainly wasn't the first, and hadn't been the last, but the way Sha'ira captivated her was something entirely different. It was rare to find someone so entirely dedicated, and so happy to be in the place that she was in. Her entire heart was dedicated to satisfaction, giving more than she had ever seen anyone give to her clients, and at the end of the day, while she was always exhausted, she was satisfied, and ready for whatever came next. 

  
     Out of the hundreds of people Kasumi met in her lifetime, she was about the third person she had ever seen that seemed to genuinely be at the place she felt perfect for her. There wasn't anywhere else that would fit the way she did there. By the end of it all, Kasumi couldn't bring herself to take a single item, mostly because of how much she seemed like a kindred spirit, but also what happened the last day.

  
     When she jumped down from the open ceiling panel, Sha'ira was watching her. Not the empty space that it should've looked like with her cloak, but _watching_ her. There was a small grin on her face as she outstretched a warm cup of tea to her, as if nothing was weird or awkward about the situation they were in. She had only stared at it, absolutely bewildered.

  
     "I do hope you will respect my clients' privacy," Sha'ira had began, "but I have the feeling that is not why you are here. Is it?"

  
     Kasumi couldn't respond.

  
     "Can I at least see what my visitor looks like?" Another silence and Kasumi had started to back away, because what the fuck was happening. This wasn't usually how things went when she was caught. "You are welcome to stay. The next hour is free for me, and I would like to know someone that... felt so called here."

  
     "Um." she had said dumbly. "Sorry," and then rather quietly made her way out. 

  
     For obvious reasons, Kasumi hadn't bothered to return, and the next she had heard of the Consort was her retirement. She wasn't sure what changed. Perhaps, she didn't want to know.

  
  
\--

  
  
     The landing wasn't smooth. The metal of the shuttle walls whined and wracked the closer they were to the earth, and for a moment, as Kasumi stared long and hard at her boots, she wondered briefly if the floor would shatter as soon as it touched the ground. It didn't, even though she counted the thumps and watched as others shook and tumbled out of their seat. Sha'ira's poise broke somewhere in the journey, gripping the edge of the bench-- her knuckles turning a light blue, bottom lip curling in apprehension as the shuttle rocked. It wasn't until it landed that she flashed a very brief smile before being the first to stand up, heels clacking as she returned to the cockpit.  She knew better not to follow her.

  
     The stench of smoke invaded her nostrils as soon as the door opened. Somewhere perhaps, there was a fire still burning, but the tangled jungle of crumbled buildings and perpetual overcast that made what used to be a great city made it nearly impossible to see. It stirred little inside of her, neither discomfort nor anxiety-- more feelings that drew thoughts of old paintings she would sit and marvel over for hours at a time in the vault. There was a strange, unearthly beauty to its ashes as a living testament to the impossible. If she waited long enough, she would almost hear the wails of dead gods somewhere in the distance, trapped within the graves they themselves built. 

  
     If she gave it much thought, a swell of pride would form inside of her for her part, however hushed it was by the Alliance. Kasumi was part of the galaxy's brightest, stood among them as equals, and though she would hope to never repeat the experience, their unshakeable belief in her and the awed smiles she received over her old party tricks had given her shadows of days when she was a little less experienced and the sort of validation still mattered. She hadn't been against the attention in the first place. She was just really only looking for one person to be watching.

  
     "Maeda, hey!" It took her a second, just that slight adjustment when it came to a new name, to realize someone was calling her, and that old krogan came bumbling over as soon as he caught Kasumi's eye. He didn't give her much time to speak. "You're good with the... technical stuff, right? That's what Sal said."  
     She had no idea who that was. "Sure."

 

     "Damn communication tower's... somethin' wrong with it."

  
     "Er. 'Wrong?'"

  
     "You'll get it once you see it," and before she had time to protest it, the krogan had gotten a nice, tight grip on her arm, just strong enough to bruise should she try to resist. With a good wrench, Kasumi was escorted to the rear of the shuttle where a small crowd of the group had formed, the red-skinned salarian standing right in the middle. Upon seeing the krogan, they shifted to the side to allow him to pass so the... was that really their tower?

  
     A pall formed over the group as they studied it. The red salarian had the courage to speak first. "... Maybe it was an accident?"

  
     "If we want anymore obvious answers, we'll be sure to call on you," the turian deadpanned.

  
     "Be better to listen in anyway. Makes it easier for an ambush."

  
     Kasumi turned from the atrocity long enough to leer at the drell, hanging around the back with a sort of bemused smile over everything. "You do realize we're a volunteer group right?" 

     She shrugged. "Sorta hard to tell. I can't be the only one to notice almost everyone here has some kinda military--"

  
     "That ain't the problem here," the krogan grumped. "Can you fix it, Maeda?"

  
     Fix? One of its sides looked ready to cave in, and the exposed wires almost looked like they had been gnawed on by something, the insulation missing in several parts, and oh the antenna was missing off the damn thing.  The scratches and dents made one thing abundantly clear: though it wasn't in anywhere near good shape to begin with, the trip down here didn't help matters. There wasn't even any guarantee that the damn tower would work in mint condition anyway. Something-- just something happened when  the war all ended-- flashes of red that absorbed everything, and suddenly those lumbering giants were falling-- either way technology had been on the fritz ever since. Long stretches of radio silence, amps going in and out to the point of hurting those that used them, and well... for a while Kasumi had seriously regretted the amount of cybernetic implant purchases she had made in the past several years.

  
     No one, especially not a thief, would enjoy being blind for a few weeks. "You're kidding right?" she sighed, exasperated. "Maybe if this place hasn't been scavenged for scrap metal already, I could get something going, but without some kinda help, no one's going to be hearing from us for a while."  
     The weight of the silence from her assessment was nigh unbearable.

  
     "Is there anyone else here that might be able to help?"

  
     A turian-- the one flirting with the asari-- spoke up first. "... Katul might know something, but..."

  
     "Great, bring them over."

  
     She glanced away, mandibles flickering. "Are... are you sure?"

  
     Why bring them up if it wasn't a good choice? "Sure, it'll be a nice bonding experience. We'll be spending _a lot_ of time with each other as it stands. Might as well." Still silence from the turian, who stepped to the side, no longer even fully facing Kasumi-- as if her disappearance would erase her words from memory. No one seemed to care enough to step up, not even the asari she was flirting with, who only seemed to look between them with darkened, concerned eyes. The tension was obvious, and would've been interesting to explore any other time. Now it was just fucking annoying. "I'll get them myself then."

  
     She waved a talon behind her. "Street corner a block from here."

  
     The turian only met her eyes once as Kasumi walked past, beady amber eyes that shook when it was held. Lack of confidence. If she was military, it wasn't social, maybe not even combative. It was always so hard to tell with turians though. The worst scars were obvious, but scratches, abrasions? Not so much, not with those that didn't grow up seeing the differences. No. Emotions were easier to read, always had been. At the very least, the turian wasn't used to hiding what she thought.

  
     She kept walking, and whether the trick of the mind or the truth, it seemed that the smell of smoke was getting stronger the closer she drew to the corner. It wasn't the ashen slumped form that she spotted first, but instead the flow of oranges and reds in Sha'ira's dress among the slate grey and the harrowing sobs that broke the stillness. It was a familiar, haunting ring that resonated inside of her. Very few things tore through a person so thoroughly, even with the death that had surrounded everyone for so many months. No.

  
     It was a sound that rumbled inside her, shook her frame, and for a long, excruciating moment, she remained rooted to the spot, and recognized the own bile that clawed its way up to her throat, the desire for freedom and how, with the longer she remained, it became more and more difficult to force down. It was so easy for him. She could see the signs cracking underneath him, the shaking of his shoulders, and how within it all, it was a long time coming, that it was so easy to let go.

  
     Then, all at once, the only conscious thought she had was to run. Her steps were hurried, blind, and it didn't take long for herself to get lost. There was something to envy by the release, something that she almost hated and was enraged by, how all at once she could feel the need for her fingers to curl against the concrete walls that surrounded them.  There were hours, hours that sprawled and stretched out to days where screaming had seemed like such an easy act to make, to let her own mind peel apart.

  
     And how it all still hurt so much when she thought of him. It didn't take long to recognize the poison behind it, how with each time the thought crossed her mind, a little part of herself was lost by the time those feelings retreated, back to an abyss she didn't know how to reach or didn't want to. Eventually, everything that was once was hers would fall inside, and maybe, it'd be a long time before she recognized herself in the mirror, not without some sort of echo of what was once there creating a cavern inside of her.

  
     What was the point?

  
     They had all done their jobs, hadn't they? Completed what they needed to. Shepard was born, bred with this one, singular idea in mind, to be a soldier until her last breath was stolen from her, until there was security in the future in front of them. All of them did something with it, and Kasumi, she lived her title for as long as it still mattered. There weren't many places for a thief, not in the parts where people still looked with heavy hearts, but she couldn't content herself. The restlessness that jolted her body, brought her there to this god forsaken ground, to a place she practically swore off when it was still breathing more than smoke, but through it all, there was just so much pointlessness in it.

  
     Keiji. Keiji could've done this so much better. He had a softer heart to him, could've felt a calling in the ruins. Could've made easier friends with the crowds she waded in, beyond the personal favors she made along the way. He meant it, had always meant it. It was with a pathetic vulnerability that she could admit inwardly how at the very base of instincts, she still craved him.

  
     Somewhere in the haze, she managed to sit on the ground, behind a sleeping giant and an uprooted concrete block. It was easy to be enthralled by the way her hands shook under her own gaze, and how a metallic taste was near suffocating in her mouth. She barely heard the soft crunch of heels against the dirt, and how almost plainly, Sha'ira studied her. 

  
     "Not just a friend," the consort spoke softly before sinking to a seat beside her, and the lack of hesitation in it nearly startled her. Maybe something to look at later.

  
     With a practiced breath, she clutched her hands against her knees, straining her grip against the cap. Just a gentle release, a practice of control as they sat there in silence. The chilled air made it a little easier, she thought, just to get the thoughts together, and when it became too much, Kasumi forced a laugh out of her lips. "There's a reason why this is easier for you."

  
     "Yet you were drawn by it." The smile was easy, despite the heavy, poignant weight of Sha'ira's words. She didn't even pretend to be surprised by it. She should've never spoken then, even the quiet apology then had given away too much. 

  
     "It was your passion," no denial in it, simply a shrug, almost in defeat. "You get this, all of this, more than anyone I've ever seen, come across. ... We're a rare breed, you know."

  
     Sha'ira laughed, and there was something so honest about it that it hurt to hear it, how it echoed inside of her in its inappropriateness. "It'll be the death of me."

  
     "Is it really a bad way to go?" 

  
     "I am imperfect, Ms. Maeda," she stood, brushed off the edges of her dress with a taut frown. "Staying alive isn't such a bad choice either. People expect more than I can give. In the end, I will hurt more than heal." Then she turned, back to something a little more professional, and offered her hand to her.

  
     Kasumi took it, kept a tight grip as she stood up, and though the conversation answered little, found herself breathing a little easier. "Maybe we're both a little out of place then."

  
     She shook her head, and there was amusement in her clear blue eyes. "This is where we were always meant to be. There is plenty of time to make those decisions. For now, I can find myself within caring for others when they can't themselves. Perhaps you should find yourself the same way."  
     "And who cares for you?"

  
     The question seemed to startle her as the grip on her hand loosened, and the thin smile that formed just barely covered the thoughts that Sha'ira coveted inside her. How it didn't reach her eyes like it needed to. All at once, it was too easy to remember how the hole she was trying to fill wasn't so unique in the end. It was just covered by different things, different ideas and distractions. A point didn't need to be made. 

  
     Not when they all seemed to be looking for one.  
  
   


	2. Cellphone's Dead (pt 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone's finally settling down to a routine, but well, Kasumi can't help studying every once and a while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So guess who fucking figured out AO3? Lot of things happened since I posted the first chapter. Went out of the country for a little while, moved out, got a cat. But I haven't forgotten this. Oh no. This pairing will never leave me. Never.

Kasumi let very few truths into her world, but if there was ever one thing that remained so consistently true throughout her life it was that fixing things took hell of a lot longer than taking them. Of course, she was familiar with both concepts to a certain degree, a necessary part of her career. And right now, fixing the damn communications tower seemed to be about the only thing she was good for.

Which, she supposed, wasn’t an entirely new thing either. The Normandy had been kinda like that. Cerberus had been a shady organization for sure, filled to the brim with monsters, fiends, and even more human like people, all with some shades of color in their history, but as soon as Shepard became involved, there wasn’t so much stealing as trying not to die, and that one trip through the boiling vents.

Some mornings she still woke up with the stench of melting flesh stuck to her nostrils, and would fill her taste buds for hours afterward, to the point where she couldn’t eat without thinking about a different kind of cannibal. It was almost a shame that she was used to the mixture of influences even the most heroic of characters left her.

Taking, taking was a lot easier. Taking precious treasure, taking lives. In the end, it was the same principle, and usually one led to the other, didn’t matter the start. It wasn’t a worry any longer as it stood, after years. A moral crisis would’ve come much sooner anyway.

But fixing things had been the start of it. The batarians understood some of the basics after all, just not always the practice of it. In order to break and take efficiently you needed to know how it worked. In order to know how it worked, you had to start fixing and playing with it.

The plate still itched when one of the engineers pulled her away from the mine. At the time she had simply called him green boots. For years afterward, all she would know about him was the muddy grass smell on him and the web of scars that formed his hands. The camp at the time was pretty small, just along the side of a valley.

The varren barks trailed behind them with their crunching feet to the cliff side overlooking sharp rocks she’d hear desperate others talking about jumping on sometimes. Kasumi couldn’t recall if anyone had done it, whether out of genuine ignorance or repression, and she was far too young and stupid to consider it at the time.

Only staring at it numbly, resisting the urge to claw the healing skin at her neck away. Green boots had a throaty laugh to him that in maybe friendlier contexts would be comforting. However, for a child, it was a sentence of death sometimes.

"I’d focus, Pyjak," he had rumbled into her ear, "that’s where you’ll be going if you fuck up."

But she’d always been a very good student. Sometimes, the lights of the machines coming to life would remind her of the whites of Ashok’s smile. It was more comforting than it should’ve been.

Most of the mornings she spent working on it had been a misty spring, cool against her skin and easy to draw a small smile to her face. It was always easier to breathe when there was something more natural about the atmosphere, where she can experience the real sun and blistering heat to this. However the adjustment wasn’t the same for everyone.

That said, she liked the turian widow fine. When he bothered to talk, he seemed to actually know whatever he was talking about. The grief was so plain on his face though that too often his company only served as an uncomfortable reminder of what she still didn’t have. They were too familiar with each other she thought.

It took about three days for him to say anything about their arrangement. The city was large, but so crushed under its own weight that it was difficult to find resources that couldn’t be claimed by alliance during the war. It was easy to get a list together and send him on his way.

The third day though, he stood there for a moment, looking at the list with a twitch of the mandibles. “You’re very efficient.”

"Comes with a lot of experience. You’re not too bad yourself."

"As much as an errand boy can be."

She laughed and was happy to return to her work on the tower instead. She was just starting to pick up a signal from it. “No offense. Easier to work alone.”

When Kasumi glanced to him from the tower, the widow was playing with the data pad in his hands, turning it this way and that. “Have you always been alone?”

"What, with working?"

"In any context."

"Well. Most everyone has had some company in their time. That’s not really a fair question."

He plopped down beside her, feet dangling over the edge of the building they had it stationed. The thing about towers is that they needed space and height. Of the small street their camp was occupying, it was the most fortified building on the block. Some traces of Alliance left behind, with blocks and plywood forming makeshift steps leading to the roof. The widow’s steps were heavy, and seemed to whine with each step of the plywood.

"It’s important enough that you made me an errand boy just to avoid me."

"I’ve been alone longer than you have. Does it bother you?"

He gave it some thought, hands on his knees, and slightly hunched over, awkwardly so with the hump on his back. Turians were strange ones sometimes; one of the few species she’d yet to really work out. Kasumi wasn’t about to over this sort of company. “Not really. A little confusing is all.”

"I’d leave it at that. You don’t seem like the type to have big heart to hearts with near strangers."

He laughed, something big and loud— deep and almost guttural about it. “I’ll give you that!” And for once, the damn man smiled, or as close as a turian could to smiling as he looked out back toward the camp.

Kasumi was just happy for some quiet. The panel damage was more complicated than she thought, some of the wires missing inside, rarer components. It was an older model, to be sure. She just hoped that the dead gods wouldn’t mess with it once she did get it working. So far luck was on their side at least.

After a minute or so he finally stood, shoulders relaxed for once in the trip. It was a shame that suddenly she felt so much more tense. “She did say I needed to get out more.” He glanced to her, mouth outstretched with more words that didn’t quite reach his platey lips before it finally closed, and he covered it with a cough.

No. Other than that, there wasn’t much remarkable about the third day. The nice thing about working so high up was how much she could watch the others from down below without interruption, not unlike the evenings she would spend in the citadel catwalks as the wards thrived below. In a way, there was power in it, to see and hold secrets that no one wanted her to hold, but there was a sense of serenity in it too. A form of silence and understanding she could never quite describe to someone, not unless they felt it for themselves.

It was only a shame that so few seemed to. For now she merely contented herself in understanding the routines of the others, to know their lives with some intimacy without having to talk to them. It was much easier that way, to give herself less chances to give away the vital information.

The red salarian was usually up first, cigarette placed between his lips as he perched himself on the sidewalk somewhere. It would almost be the perfect image of stoicism if not for the excitement that would show on his face whenever someone came by, usually the hulking krogan that took it upon himself to do a quick search around the perimeter just in case. From there, they would walk off, usually together. They made sure to be back by the evening.

Next was the drell, who sometimes joined her at her roof sanctuary. Rarely she said anything during her visits, other than maybe odd observations at times, some even Kasumi wouldn’t notice. There was something to appreciate about it, though the woman was rather strange.

One morning before, while the drell tried to share some sort of bird that she caught, she pointed out in the street to a familiar sight of the widow with a grin. “He’s helping you right?”

"None of the others seemed too willing."

"You know he comes back during the day to check in, right. Weird though, he only does it with the turian girl. No one else." The chuckle that was vibrating from her throat was much less attractive with the pieces of flesh stuck between her teeth.

"Think they knew each other before this?"

"That or asari might have some competition."

Kasumi hummed. “He seems a little older.”

"How can you tell?"

"Older ones just have a… Thing to them. Like they don’t have enough patience for diplomacy and the mushy stuff."

"Oh. He does seem kinda crabby." She hadn’t stayed long after that, but Kasumi couldn’t help noticing the same thing afterward, how he seemed to be relying on the other turian’s company than she would’ve initially guessed. The drell was good for that sort of thing, but her food choices could make her bad company at times.

The volus would be out next, usually around the same time as the couple, and the three would often catch each other on the way. They chatted, usually rather animatedly, though with the asari much less enthused over it. If anything, it confirmed something she already knew about the woman: she was simply straight combat. Biotics were… Difficult. She never really knew what to do with biotics other than killing them quickly.

Her first blip would come in on the third day. Salarian voice. Somewhere in the old university. It was comforting.

The elcor wasn’t far behind the volus, and she didn’t see but so much hear it’s heavy steps from where she worked. He usually circled the fire a few times in looking for the volus, and greeted most anyone that was still in the camp with the best enthusiasm an elcor could make. The batarian priest was usually close by around that time.

She didn’t know if the priest slept. On the fourth day, when a bit of an asari’s voice would come in, the priest had stopped by to visit her. The harsh shadows of the evening then, chilly and windy from high atop, only seemed to add to his age, which had to have been advanced already. The top two symbols indicated rank. He owned something likely, something big. It was ashes now.

He refused to look at her. “Have you been adjusting well?”

"Easier when there’s something to do."

He sat beside her without invitation, watching for a few moments. The study was benign she knew, but the beady eyes and heavy set frown always set Kasumi’s teeth on edge with the expectation of a strike following. “Did you learn how to do this from the city you grew up in?”

Her hand slipped from the wire she was working on. “No.”

"You’re quite delicate with it."

"You know," and she ducked below the base, if anything just to avoid more looks from the priest, "anyone ever tell you that was a little unnerving? I’m sure you’re real popular with the whole studying habit."

He didn’t seem concerned over that in the slightest, instead turning back to the campsite. “Forgive me then.”

"There’s nothing to say."

"Plenty. The surgery alone must have been painful."

Kasumi paused. It didn’t hurt nearly as much as it being put on. “If you’re looking for pity, I’d go elsewhere, priest. I’m not dead.” It was more than her masters could say. His presence lingered however for some time, hours it seemed that stretched into a near eternity of awkwardness. It wasn’t until the widow returned that early afternoon with her materials that he chose to leave.

There was something private about it, nothing that could be explained even under the widow’s quietly questioning eyes. She had merely shrugged it off before getting distracted by the third blip, another salarian, tone more questioning than the last one.

The pilot and Sha’ira were almost always the last ones to leave their tent. She could believe the pilot taking so long, as he seemed to be up longer stretches during the evening than the red salarian, and usually wasn’t going to bed until they were all getting up. However, Sha’ira, she knew from her time watching, wasn’t a late sleeper.

Through the week, it seemed easy to ask, but her visits to the roof hadn’t ever seemed to be about conversation. Kasumi always knew when she was coming, for the quick patter of steps, while delicate, seemed to be a little fragile on the plywood. Maybe out of concern that it would break underneath. Her steps weren’t quiet.

The consort studied with something akin to professional admiration, Kasumi thought. It was inherently interested, and felt sorta familiar with the way she had watched her. A small sort of smile would fall on Sha’ira’s lips, and even though her visits would be short and quiet, she seemed to always walk away as if she learned something new from the visit.

Sha’ira’s visit on the fifth day coincided with the tower coming to life again. It seemed almost impossible, with the way it suddenly spun, and how all at once her ear piece had been filled with static. It seemed to dance for her even, and it was with a sigh of relief that she began searching through the channels.

Something cold pressed against the side of her neck, smooth and so concentrated that it made her jump from the sudden sensation. “Geez!” The laughter escaped Sha’ira then was light, fluttering, and surprisingly honest with it.

"I apologize, but you seemed so focused." There was still a cheeky smile on her when she looked, something a little lighter, a little freer than before as she pulled the bottle away. Almost right away, it was something distinct with its dark color and the chill.

"Beer doesn’t seem your style, Consort."

"Is this really the place for champagne?"

She grinned and took the bottle offered to her, welcoming the slight reprieve it gave. Sha’ira slid into the seat next to her daintily, legs crossed and making the reds and oranges of her dress flow against her calves. Freckles there too, but lighter, barely noticeable. Kasumi wasn’t going to look too hard. “It’s more about a mood anyway,” she provided instead, “And we are celebrating.”

"I suppose if there are anyone to talk to in this city." She opened her bottle, twisting the lid with a quick flick. "…and it would be nice to hear how my mother is doing."

"Is she at Thessia?"

"Thought it would be best to help home first."

"But?"

Sha’ira smiled. “We all have a debt, don’t we? Earth could be a very beautiful place.”

"I almost feel offended."

"It’s not your home either."

That was true. Kasumi made a small noise in response and stared at the swishing liquid. There was some rowdiness below them. The red salarian liked to entertain the others some afternoons, usually with various card games. She couldn’t say she had much experience with salarian ones other than that they were exceedingly complicated and grew more so as the game continued. She spent many hours wondering if she would see blood splatter from the krogan head-butting the poor guy out of frustration.

"He says he knows you. Sal."

"That’s interesting." The name sounded it, but there were plenty that she came across during her time and not nearly enough was in her to care to remember those that didn’t matter. If he was a threat, that was a problem, but a man that spent time every day to confuse the hell out of their group wasn’t really worth it.

“So is it true then? We have a mutual associate?"

 

That. That gave her pause. "I'm sure we'd have a few with my line of work."

 

"And what would that be exactly?"

 

"Consulting."

 

Sha'ira gave a dubious look. "I hadn't realized a 'consultant' could grab Shepard's attention enough to warrant recommendation to the Crucible-- or the skills to break into my office."

 

She grimaced. "Why not? We'll always know more than the buyer." It was too much to hope she wouldn't bring that up again. Meeting victims, even non-victims and people that just happened to be there, was always a very awkward experience. But with Sha'ira, it was a very different experience. Just explaining why she walked away then was enough to dig herself a grave first.

 

"Is it really so important to be obtrusive about it?"

 

"About as much as your last name, I guess."

 

The face she made was almost funny, twisted and a little harsh around the edges of her eyes-- nose scrunched up. "I suppose someone was going to ask."

 

"It's not like it stops your name from being searched."

 

"And how much of it is on my life before being a consort?"

 

Kasumi paused. Thought about it while messing with the channels. "You cover your tracks pretty well. I'll give you that."

 

"Because we both know what it means to keep a secret." She tentatively touched Kasumi's knee, a gentleness that was unfamiliar to her. Already, Kasumi saw how she was testing boundaries with every bit of the action. "There's nothing on 'Izumi Maeda,' other than Commander Shepard. Anyone could guess that was not a real name."

 

She only smiled. "What do you think then?"

 

"About you?" Sha'ira seemed to consider it, idly tapping a finger against her thigh. It wasn't unwelcomed, though strange if she didn't remind herself of the consort's touchiness. "You might have more at stake than I do, and that is why you're so careful about it. Scars suggest experience in fighting... the one on the back of your head is interesting."

 

Naturally, she scratched at the rough patch of skin, trying to hide the scowl forming on her face. 

 

"But I have a feeling you are not... much for authority, are you? Quite independent."

 

"You're getting warmer. So is the last name embarrassing in asari culture or something?"

 

"Far from it."

 

"But unique enough to make you worried."

 

Sha'ira returned the smile, a glint in her eyes-- something knowing. She slipped somewhere, though she couldn't see the slip. "Far from it. You may not answer to authority, but you are not stupid either. If you wanted to dig more than what I have given you, you would."

 

She laughed, and turned away just long enough to look at the omni-tool once more, ignoring the way Sha'ira's hand seemed to stretch and splay against her thigh. Innocent, but strangely intimate-- more than what she was used to. The static became a little less then, into something more like a white noise-- pleasant, comfortable. "There's no fun in that. How many people figure you out without digging?"

 

"No clients, certainly."

 

"And I'm not?"

 

The consort tipped the beer to her lips, smiling. "There hasn't been one in a while."

 

"You were happy with it."

 

"... Perhaps." The beer didn't seem to settle on her well. It was a brief change in expression, the way Sha'ira's eyes darkened and she seemed to stare hard into the bottle as if it would change if she just wished it long enough. It was obvious that the choice was made for Kasumi's benefit and not hers. "But even the best of our lives can hurt us if we let it."

 

"Almost poetic, isn't it?"

 

Sha'ira shook her head, amusement in her eyes. "I can't say I'm surprised you would be familiar with that."

 

"You sound pretty certain of it."

 

"We're far from kidding ourselves at this point, wouldn't you agree? 

 

She laughed and was ready to speak again until she picked up a voice from the ear piece. With a crooked smile, Kasumi shushed Sha'ira and showed the channel on her omni-tool. There was the salarian voice again-- smooth and steady now, with a deep, authoritative inflection to it. 

 

"Any sign?"

 

Another voice answered, lighter than the last-- almost childish. "Nothing but trash. This'd be a lot easier if we had those plans. All we can tell is basically scrap metal."

 

"There's some signs of others a couple of miles from your point. They don't seem to be making any headway either."

 

"That's probably us," Kasumi finally spoke into the earpiece, "If you're finding materials, let me know? It took us forever just to repair this damn tower. I'd hate to have to work this long for something else that might break."

 

Her first sign that something was wrong was the deafening silence that followed, as if there was some great offense committed. She usually didn't feel that sort of awkwardness except for that one time she broke into a person's house during their dinner party. That hadn't ended well for anyone involved. Somehow, she could guess this wouldn't either.

 

Finally, Mr. Authority broke the curtain of silence, "Who is this?!"

 

But Kasumi couldn't speak. 


	3. Cellphone's Dead (pt 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Familiar faces doesn't always lead to good outcomes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Double-posting tonight! I wanted to get the third part done too, but I wanted to make sure this thing stayed alive first. Also these chapters are getting longer and longer the more I write. Whoop.

“Identify yourself. Now.”

 

Shit. Kasumi's voice had all but died in her throat, whether out of nerves or sheer stubbornness. The years as a criminal were playing in her favor. After all, she was familiar with that tone, the authority, dark, dire inflections. Military always had a certain urgency in it too, as if disobedience would spell death for everyone. In Shepard's voice, that had always been the truth of the matter-- the nice thing about being under command. You had free will until it became necessary to tie the leash around the neck. But this wasn't a leash though; it was a noose. And Kasumi knew better. 

 

"Ms. Maeda," Sha'ira called softly by her side. It came with the nails digging into her thigh. "The channel isn't showing up. They already know you are... different."

 

A credible threat, more like it. No wonder they freaked out when she spoke. She bit the inside of her cheek, cursing quietly under her breath. Of course. She never even gave her omni-tool much thought when she started flipping through the communication channels. Her programs were as natural and automatic as the thought to use it, and more often than not, it'd automatically decrypt anything, so long as she had came across it before. Why they needed it at all was a different matter entirely. 

 

The security alone would give a wide depth of possibilities. Kasumi knew most any model and program available on the market, and several ones, modded and filled with complexity, that no one was ever supposed to figure out. However, the necessity of it narrowed it down significantly. Merc groups would, but the channel would be rudimentary at best, and there would be a different sort of awkwardness. Silence. That left only two other possibilities.

 

"So are you military, or are there still spectres running around?"

 

"This isn't some joke--"

 

"Really? Because I was sorta wondering what the fuss would be about to require all the hiding and the panic when someone's better than you. Obviously, you didn't want me to find you. STG maybe?"

 

There was a choking noise and some kind of scuffling-- rustling of hushed voices, static for just a moment. Kasumi could already feel her patience wearing thin. Surprise was influencing it, sure, but it sounded like something else, strategizing maybe. A lot of communications like this were like negotiations; see who was willing to bite the bullet first. STG were quite familiar with it, she was sure. Kasumi had ran into a few groups off and on during the war, usually after a similar goal. Other times, they just happened to 'pass' by each other for different things.

 

They were professional, fluid and competent even. If Kasumi had to give herself any rival, she would probably pick the group-- if not for Quarn (and she would never give him the dignity of it). It mostly wasn't out of cockiness, but simply the admiration for their efficiency, and if she made it a race for herself, a challenge. Even if they didn't know about that last part. 

 

"Is everything alright?" Sha'ira asked, once she realized the silence was no longer just on their side.

 

"Not sure," she answered honestly. "I think they're figuring things out."

 

Sha'ira's jaw clenched before she nodded stiffly. "How were you able to do that?"

 

"Later."

 

She didn't fight the answer; knew better not to. The mic was still on after all, and it was never wise to give away trade secrets. It was always much harder coming into it dark though. When they touched down on Earth, they had no guarantee anyone would be in the area. Sure, Kasumi figured-- maybe some a little on the shadier side than others. This was complicated though. And not nearly enough time for it.

 

A sigh escaped from her. "Hey, look. I don't want any tr--"

 

"Ms. Goto."

 

For a second, Kasumi felt her heart shrivel and die within her own chest. She loved the Normandy and everyone inside of it. It all changed her life to something she could've never imagined when she lost everything twice. However, the voice on the other end reminded her of why she never reached out afterward, of the chill that clawed its way up her spine before making itself home in a pit in her stomach-- a place where she could almost believe would never be warm again. "Justicar Samara." she laughed, but it came off so hoarse to her, cracked. "Now I know it's a party."

 

"I had hoped I would not see you again."

 

"Can definitely disappear to make sure that's still the case."

 

"I am afraid that is no longer possible." Kasumi stuffed the choke that was filling her throat. Already, she could imagine the gun barrel leveled against her forehead, or maybe that brief glow of biotics before her neck snapped. The cracking, shattering of bones being that last sound in her ears. "Your name is recognizable among the group. They will not let this go without meeting you."

 

"I'm not stupid!" she snarled. "You don't expect me to fall for that bullshit, do you? They're not just going to let a security threat go, Samara, and you know it!" Was there any choice in the matter though? The thought stopped her in her tracks. Who knows how long they had been there over their group. If any case, they were more organized, and more trained. If she fled, they would certainly be worse off for it. And this urban jungle? Even before it was reduced to shambles, she hadn't the foggiest clue how it was all laid out-- where to hide best, where to lay out the best counter attack. She'd might buy herself a few weeks, but Samara knew her enough. Enough to fish her out as the huntress she was. 

 

The tension sang in every part of her, and she could tell that Sha'ira felt it. The hand moved to her shoulder, gentle and warm, but there was nothing that could sooth the fear driving her heart at that moment. 

 

"Only one path will lead to mercy, Ms. Goto. We will be in the old university," and then, Samara seemed to hesitate, something that broke the facade she was so used to. "Be wise about this."

 

She didn't answer, instead shutting off her omni-tool completely, and resisting the urge to kick the stupid tower off the damn building. They were going to kill her. She couldn't see any other solution the whole thing, other than perhaps imprisoning her for whatever the hell secrets Kasumi could've and definitely have stolen. Everything in her body was screaming for her to run, to lose everything within the confines of the city-- see how long it took for them to give up, if they ever did. The only thing that stopped her was the hand on her shoulder.

 

"Ms. Maeda. Talk to me." Sha'ira's voice was as soothing as ever. It would be easier if she said nothing and started running. At least enough time to change things maybe, to leave something behind. Samara was serious, always was. There wasn't much that could dissuade her.

 

"You said this was where I was needed, right?"

 

"Something akin to that. ... What have you done exactly to warrant a justicar's attention?"

 

Kasumi shrugged helplessly. It didn't matter, and if Sha'ira gave it much thought, any answer she'd give would be likely, no matter what the truth was. With a sigh, she stood to her feet, head swimming with different options. Running wouldn't get her very far, but at least, it'd might be her some time to call for a quick pick-up. She didn't like calling attention to herself like that though, and if they were close enough, Samara's group would definitely notice another shuttle coming down. 

 

And then there'd be the months of running. Sometimes, a name was just enough to pursue. It was better than seeing if she could appeal to Samara's emotional nature though. She had no reason to spare her now with Shepard gone. Still, she felt the fingers on her arm, Sha'ira's grasp loose and delicate. "Ms. Maeda," she started carefully. "They asked you to come to them. Didn't they?"

 

"I don't think Shepard's word will get me out of this one."

 

"I might though."

 

She glanced back to the consort, saw the pensive, taut lines in her frown, the way the concern darkened her blue eyes, but a confidence that relaxed her shoulders, kept her grip just tight enough to make Kasumi hesitate. "You wouldn't happen to have a law degree hiding in that secret history of yours, would you?"

 

Sha'ira grimaced. "Not exactly, but a lawyer cannot change a mind like I can."

 

"You sound pretty sure of yourself."

 

"Influence can be a powerful tool," she said, "And you will need someone to trust, Ms. Maeda."

 

Trust. That was a tricky word.

 

"Please."

 

It'd certainly save her some trouble if Sha'ira could. The hand on her arm tightened, nails digging in. Kasumi looked at the space between them, and cursed silently. "We'll need a shuttle."

 

The smile on her face afterward was brilliant, no longer showing the concern, but just enough that for a brief moment, she could almost believe the power that was there. Changing hearts was a dangerous, intimidating power, but there was something so sweet about that smile-- a bit of that optimism coming back. "The others won't know of this."

 

She just hoped Sha'ira was right.

 

\--

 

The last night on the Normandy had been a quiet one. Kasumi knew it would come as no surprise to anyone if she left. Earth was looming on the horizon, a long and forlorn trip for even their commander and hero. War crimes weren't on her agenda, not the sort that killed and massacred so many people in the process. She understood why it happened, applauded it even for what it meant. No one had been ready for what was coming.

 

But they were still people. No matter how much the resentment grew as a poisonous knife inside her, digging and digging, she knew removing that aspect would hardly be better than the years she spent in chains. And a child, a child didn't understand that sort of thing anyway. There would be nothing to erase the tragedy in taking their lives, and the way that Shepard seemed to internalize the blood seeping into her hands, the first ugly marks of the war, was all too painful to watch. 

 

Rather than watching their only hope be dragged into a long court battle, it was easier to leave. Saved a lot of the awkward questions that would come from the Alliance anyway, especially with the lovely stolen items that helpfully decorated _her_ room (and she remembered perhaps a little bitterly, how tackishly they designed it later). It didn't take much to pack, and by the time they touched down on Illium for one brief stop before heading back, it was just a couple of minutes of slipping out of the lock.

 

If Kasumi had to choose where she'd like to be dropped off, Illium would've been in the bottom of the list, only topped by Earth. The path up to becoming the best was always dirty, bloodied, and filled with so many mistakes that sometimes made it just too awkward. Illium was familiar though with plenty of places to hide in the bright neon lights and fake smiles that awaited her. 

 

The dock was pretty much deserted, which made it easy to spot the flash of red and gold armor. Samara stood as a stiff guard, peering out at the Normandy's sheen metal and the void of the galaxy with a sternness and stoicism that put a wall up to anyone that approached her. Oh, but they both knew better, didn't they? At the core, there was a grieving mother.

 

Grief. She wished it wasn't a feeling that haunted her. 

 

She had set out to merely pass by Samara, but the eyes were on her almost immediately as she passed. The gaze was tired, weighed by stress, and perhaps, a bit of listlessness to them. The hunt was over, and Kasumi could recognize the lost, perplexed feelings behind it. A door was supposed to be closed on their lives, but love always wanted it just a little cracked. Just in case.

 

"Do you have a home here?" Samara asked.

 

"Depends on what you mean by that. A place to stay, certainly." A little reluctantly, she joined her at the window, splaying her hands against the glass. Cold. Sometimes she missed real sunlight, even the kind that beat down her back and crisped her sensitive skin for weeks. "I guess Earth isn't exactly thrilling for you either."

 

"My work is done." 

 

The silence that followed was awkward, even as they both remained rooted to their spots. It had been easy to tell that Samara wanted to say something, even at the early stages of their conversation. However, distance was always a safe tool to use. People picked up and trailed along with the meaningless subjects easily enough, keeping the questions as just that. Samara had a different kind of distance though; simply becoming such an empowering presence that no one dared to voice their curiosity. But a lie was still a lie no matter how well painted it was.

 

"Do you believe in justice, Ms. Goto?"

 

She stole a quick glance. Samara remained as still as ever, contemplative. "... I'm not sure," Kasumi shrugged. "You think I can still believe in it with my choices?"

 

"A concept exists, no matter how we may go against it."

 

"But you want me to admit that I'll get jailed and die there. That's what justice is."

 

"That is fate." Her frown only deepened, curling her fingers against the window. Samara hesitated for only just a moment before laying her hand on Kasumi's shoulder, loose and almost warm if Kasumi could fool herself long enough. "You chose this life, correct?"

 

She chose to believe that. The honest answer wasn't as clear-cut as she'd like to admit, but that first step, that first move, that was hers. Something she could happily own and hold with pride among everything else. "I want to keep living," Kasumi said sharply, "That's good enough."

 

"And so do the ones you cause suffering to." Then her eyes softened, almost motherly. "I have seen enough to know of your intentions, Ms. Goto. You will take responsibility. And when you are called, you will come to accept your actions."

 

"By you or someone else?"

 

Her hand had been warm, but any comfort had been replaced by the thrum of biotics running beneath the justicar's skin. She squeezed once, twice, before beginning a slow walk down the dock, and toward the harsh neon lights that had awaited both of them. 

 

The warning had been clear then and still was now. In another life, maybe she could've ended up like Samara. They both had a bit of obsessiveness toward them, dedicating so much to what they believed in, to the best of their talents. For Samara, it was about morality, redemption for what she believed was creating a monster out of love. Kasumi could understand it, in some basic part of herself, the part that still screamed for something that was no longer there.

 

She was motivated by morality. Kasumi was motivated by the sense of release-- emotional, mental. It was the storm of passion that brewed inside of her; however now, it might as well have been in the process of killing her. 

 

Sha'ira's eyes were soft when she watched her. The trip to the old university wouldn't be a long trip, just a few miles out from their campsite. The place had been leveled by the end of the war, when the crucible fell apart like it did, pieces of scrap metal and old giants crumbling to the floor of the city. Kasumi couldn't imagine it from the ground level, the sudden, halting silence that would've overwhelmed the battlefield. In a way, she thought it would be a gold mine for material, but it would be too much to see a spot of red hair among the wreckage.

 

Now though, she had no choice. The ride was steady at least, unlike the trip to ground. Maybe it was the pilot then. However, Sha'ira's presence was almost painful in the sort of concern that she showed. It didn't take long for the questions to start.

 

"I meant it when I said none of this would be getting to the others," she started, smooth and careful. Always very careful. "But I need to understand. We both know Izumi Maeda is a lie."

 

She didn't say a word. It wouldn't do much good that way. Sha'ira could turn and retract her support, even as she knew she was her visitor that time ago. It would be an awkward few minutes, and a long, grueling conversation once they got there. Even if it wasn't fair to leave her there in the dark.

 

"Who are you?"

 

Kasumi smiled. "You know, you never gave your guess on that."

 

"My answer came with the angry justicar. Left us with very few options."

 

"And that isn't enough?"

 

Sha'ira sighed, lips curling with either out of frustration or thought-- Kasumi wasn't sure. "It will make defending you much more difficult. The nice thing about a debate is going in with more knowledge than your opponent, wouldn't you agree?"

 

"Do you really 'debate' over a person?"

 

"Enough so. I'm getting the feeling the people we are meeting are much more familiar with you than I am."

 

Because she never stole from the consort. They didn't know enough either, or else the label of terrorist would also be a fitting title. There was a reason why it was so simple to decode something like that, without any prior thought into it. Maybe they did and that was why the action was so immediate. Kasumi nodded. "I worked with the justicar."

 

"... And you're... not dead yet? Was that with Shepard?"

 

"Sorta."

 

Sha'ira laughed. "Her charisma will continue to amaze me until the day I die it seems." Shepard was good at that, and she thought she'd spend years after this wondering if she hadn't missed something about the Commander before everything happened. It was so hard to parse the person out of the heroic face that was behind it all. What was real about it, what wasn't. She had either been the greatest liar in the galaxy, or all of it was real, and that-- that Kasumi could never fully believe.

 

Sacrifice was a weird thing. She wasn't sure how it all worked, though the need had never really been there to understand it. It was always meant for people who were better at it, who had the desire to fight for something more than just themselves. There were fleeting times where she felt it, but righteousness was a concept she rarely felt justified in representing.

 

“You know, you should consider yourself lucky.”

 

When she looked back at Sha’ira, she caught the small traces of the smile before, just as they spotted the small touches of red and gold in the rubble. “Not many get to work alongside the justicar. Especially one that would cause… ire.”

 

“A dying art can do that.”

 

Sha’ira hesitated. Kasumi didn’t fight it, instead focusing on the smoke and rubble below for the distinct colors of Samara’s armor. It was always something dynamic, yet elegant. She still had her red suit, stuffed in a corner at her apartment in Illium. Last she heard, the rotten city had fared better. “Is killing really an art?”

 

She saw it then, the reds and golds, and already felt the hard gaze that would greet them once they touched down, in a small clearing around the rubble. “In the worst places.”

 

The touchdown wasn’t easy. The engine still rumbled and shook as if awakening from a long slumber, a bad sign as any for their benefactor's money. In some part, Kasumi could be relieve it simply wasn't the pilot's lack of skill, and perhaps, if they were lucky, they would simply die a hurtling ball of screeching, fiery metal, but no. It choked and sputtered noisily, but despite it, it landed simply in a large clearing, not far from the rumbles of the old university.

 

And as the door opened, it wasn't difficult to see the flash of blood and gold waiting for them further ahead.

 

Kasumi could recall two or three times where she genuinely was terrified of something. The vents that suffocated her and the dying screams of a melting colonist, the calculating eye of a batarian putting a monetary value on her life, and now, the way Samara stood as still as a statue, waiting for them with a stoicism that gave her little comfort for the future.

 

Sha’ira lead with all the grace of royalty, and before she could protest, had secured an arm around Kasumi’s own, either to comfort or to secure her to her earlier decision. Mud caked the broken street between them, only breaking away to make home on their shoes. The sky was dreary, bringing a promise of more to come with that good, earthy scent that could only be described as spring mist. In some way, Kasumi could still draw comfort in the way it muffled her steps, something so perfect and so hardly used when most of her travels brought her to controlled environments. Citadel, Illium. It was hard not to think of them without thinking about the Normandy.

 

If some part of Samara thought back on that time fondly, she may have some chance to stay alive. For now, Samara seemed to outright ignore her, instead focusing on Sha’ira with a briefest break of her mask, eyes widened and scowling deeply.

 

“Consort. You were not expected.”

 

“I apologize, but seeing as Ms. Maeda has been part of my group, I thought she’d might need a friend.”

 

Samara glanced toward Kasumi, something that could almost be described as amusement in her eyes, if she could maybe believe they were there for anything other than this. But it disappeared long before she could ever put a proper name to it, and Samara turned on her heel, leading them toward a halo of crushed buildings and metallic structures that Kasumi could vaguely recognize. Some she had worked on personally, others through notes and conversations that had been passed around her. The Crucible had been a fine project for its intended purpose. But only that.

 

They walked for some time in a stiff and suffocating silence, just enough to reach first of many crucible leftovers before Samara hesitated to speak again. “Have you been told anything?”

 

“Enough.” Sha’ira responded easily. “Shepard thought fondly of both of you, I’m sure.”

 

“Yes…. She would not be happy to see this.”

 

They never talked about that. Kasumi was always happy to share the galaxy with her, within reason. There were just some things that never needed to be crossed. Whether or not Shepard would pursue her one day was one of them. Maybe it was fortunate that life answered that question for them.

 

“Would Shepard put her faith on someone who didn’t deserve it?”

 

“Whether she deserves it or not is not the issue, Consort. I have my obligations, and so do they. Your… Our friend has created a situation. And likely has lied to you and your group.”

 

Sha’ira tightened the grip on her arm, as if looking to shield her away. The gesture was almost flattering, but not as much as Samara thinking of her as a friend. Perhaps to placate both of them. “And you’re happy to let me into this conversation blind?”

 

Samara stopped then, looking back at the pair with a cold eye. Kasumi knew what was coming before the name had even slipped from her lips, felt the air ice and thicken like a blade, and all at once, she gulped. “Ms. Goto.” Then she felt Sha’ira stiffen beside her. “Will you two need a moment?”

 

“Ahh—“

 

“To have someone so notorious in our group. That is remarkable.” Sha’ira then seemed to dismiss the offer entirely. “I am not sure any conversation may actually prepare myself for this. I suppose the rumors are true then?”

Kasumi grimaced. “Depends on what and where from. I do send out the occasional slander article.”

 

She even had the gall to laugh. “Well-done. Spin enough fairy tales, and no one would even believe of your existence.”

 

“That’s the idea.”

 

Sha’ira left the topic where it was with nothing more than a brief smile before she ushered both her and Samara this time into a clearing of tents not far, just a little down the block. Kasumi could see a pillow of smoke behind a fallen reaper claw, stationary and no doubt a sign of a fire that was being well-managed. Her best guess at this point was STG. They were really the only candidates that she could ever see Samara tolerating for extended periods of time. Why though was simply beyond her.

 

Running into the Justicar hadn’t even occurred to her, now that Thessia laid in ruins. Something had pulled them here, and the location was beyond far from coincidence.

Perhaps an advantage could be made there, or a quick invitation to her murder. It would’ve been easier knowing Mr. Authority, she thought.

 

She noticed the stiffness in Samara’s shoulders once they breached the perimeter of the camp. For the urgency that had been in their conversation, it was pleasantly quiet with almost a neurotic organizational neatness that she had come to expect from salarians. The area was wide, almost scattered, but she’d seen enough to see the order within it. Many of the tents were shadowed by something, usually rubble, but none of them were completely obscured from view of the other tents. From far away it’d seem like nothing, but here, here it was civilization at its early legs.

 

A small fire was brewing in the center with a salarian clad in brown armor idly stoking it as he waited. There was a small number surrounding him, but if Kasumi listened just long enough, she could hear murmurs of more. Not much more. Small group then. At their approach, he craned his head, and immediately stood with broad shoulders, scowl clear on his features.

 

Ah. So that was Mr. Authority. He looked… older than Kasumi had expected. There was a weight in his amphibious eyes with scales lining his jaw and forehead. There was still an active, calculating glint in his eyes—an intuition that earned him his place in STG.

 

Samara yanked at her arm with a tight, squeezing grip and brought her forward to show. The shift in demeanor from the Justicar was immediately obvious, and true to her word, Kasumi didn’t fight back. Not until she had some idea of the numbers. It usually didn’t take much to slip out for a quick getaway, but if there was someone manning the perimeter, still in a tent on the outer skirts, passively watching, she would be in trouble.

 

The smile was grim by the time he reached them. “Ms. Goto,” he greeted. “Your STG report is quite… bare.”

 

“It’s how I’d like to keep it if it’s all the same to you.”

 

He responded by yanking down the hood of her jacket. She snapped her head away, and would’ve brought fists, surely, but salarians were quick bastards. Her hands curled just enough and two of them had flanked her, yanking and pinning her tightly by her arms. Her heart sunk once she saw the omni-tool and a distinct camera flash.

 

“This… Is this really necessary?” Sha’ira questioned, but seemed cautious, uncertain. “I understand Ms. Goto has a… worrisome reputation, but she hasn’t shown any ill intent toward our group.”

 

“She’s there already. That should worry you enough.”

 

“Oh yes. I am sure there’s plenty to steal here… in this very desolate city.” Snark. Nice.

 

He narrowed his eyes. “Simplification doesn’t suit you, Consort,” then he sighed, and turned his attention toward Kasumi with something that seemed more tired, a heavy gaze.  
“The Alliance has managed to recover most of its archive, save for one important detail.”

 

“Has it?” She kept her eyes away, to one of the tents in the back. There was a pair of salarians there, unconcerned, but every now and then, they would glance back to the commotion.

 

“Where are the blueprints?”

 

Oh, so that was what this was about. Sure, her hands may have slipped once or twice through the panic of trying to recover everything. Instead, Kasumi shrugged, finally looking at Mr. Authority with a careless smile. “Can’t say I’d know. Had my own bit of problems there, sir.” Which was partly true, so she had Tianna do it.

 

He sighed and rubbed a few chin scales, but if Kasumi looked hard enough, she could almost swear that there was a smile. Though that didn’t make much sense, did it? “You realize gathering the resources would be nigh impos—“

 

“I’m greedy, not stupid.”

 

“Then you plan on selling it?”

 

“Except I don’t have it.” There was that almost smile again.

 

“But you know what it is.”

 

She had a response ready, but Sha’ira made a noise, roughly and quickly tugging the soldiers away from her. The scowl on her face was deep and unsettled. “I am sure you enjoy going in circles as much as I do.” Mr. Authority mumbled something in response, but didn’t prevent her freedom. “However, I would rather we didn’t waste our times with something we can’t afford to worry about. No one in this galaxy can afford to build the Crucible, Major.”

 

His brow raised, but he didn’t say a word at first. He glanced away, humming in thought, glanced back behind them to Samara before shrugging in defeat. “We do have a more immediate problem,” he admitted before offering his hand. “Surrender your gun, Ms. Goto, and everything you use for your career.”

 

“I don’t think so.” If they had the presence of mind, they would simply remove her omni-tool and be done with it. It was easier to fight back on it now before they started to dig through the tent and find personal things. Like the grey-box, or whatever old photos she had left. Things that tied everything together. It was so much easier to seem less than human without all the personal shit. However, she began to step back, she felt warm hands on her shoulders, thrumming with biotics.

 

She still had the flashbang grenade in her back pocket. It wouldn’t be fair to leave Sha’ira to deal with it, but.

 

“Be wise. You cannot outrun all of them.”

 

Samara had never seen her try. In the Normandy, it was always about running toward the problem, and even as she never felt like a perfect soldier, it was about acting the part. Kasumi never ran all that fast. It was much easier to let Shepard deal with the problem a bit first. Again, there were the questions involved though. Where would she go? How long could she really hide out there without any rations?

 

Then something caught her eye. Further out in the clearing, high in the sky, a camera floated, pearly white and pristine against the muck and grey that surrounded them. How long had that been there? It didn’t seem like anyone else noticed yet, likely waiting for her decision. Alerting them would provide a pleasant enough distraction—

 

No. There was a potential resource there.

 

“Alright. But the omni-tool stays with me.”

 

“As a thief? I don’t—“

 

“ _Major._ ” That one word cut through the conversation like a knife. “If you had the sense, you would confine her to this very camp with her reputation. Don’t render her useless in her best skill.” There was a hidden smirk in there when she glanced back to Kasumi, just hints of it with the way her mouth twitched. “Further exposure is the last thing you would like to consider, correct?”

 

“Ideally.”

 

“Let her keep it, and I can ensure her silence. I promise you.”

 

He sighed, offering his hand with reluctance and thinly veiled exhaustion. “The gun then, Ms. Goto. And any mods. I know some of them are just for work.”

 

“This might take a while.”

 

\---

 

The camera didn’t start leaving until after she had reassembled her omni-tool. Mods were funny like that, and the second thing she had learned to build after those damn implants had been omni-tools. The batarians never let her touch the stuff, of course, but every now and then, she’d have a chance to watch her handler repair a few. The bits of wires and metal had fascinated her.

 

In the end, everything looked the same taken apart. Some had more pieces, but when you got right down to it, it was all pieces of metal and wires and plastic. When she was younger, when she was thought more as a pyjak than a human, it all seemed rather mystical to her that one could create opportunities and the other could close them.

 

Her first model had been a gift from her savior-- an asari, with as much grace as an old dynasty empress and a near eroticism that she thought would haunt her for her entire life. Like before, the test was to break and rebuild. To take and give. She had gone through a lot of models that way, but in the end, it was still basically the same. A bunch of metal and wires.

 

Her current model was a Savant, though it was the first time she had seen it in the actual commercial form. Keiji and her had been on a date together when he asked if she could repair it for him. There were so many smiles then, and the challenge, the passion within her, had caved his reason. She kept it, and made it into something that was hers instead.

 

Now that he was gone, she was sorta thankful that she had done it. The grey-box was enough.

 

Everything seemed a bit calmer now. Sha’ira had settled beside her for a little while, hand against her back and watching with earnest, as if they were back at their own camp like before. However, it didn’t take long before something about the STG group called her attention, a soldier perhaps that had been there before. She just remembered an imprint of a smile and how lightly, quietly, she had moved away from her. If she was younger, she could see how people were so easily mystified by Sha’ira.

 

Major Kirrahe, as she would find out by one of the soldiers later in the building, had kept an eye on her at first, but it was far too easy for him to be distracted by something. It was only a few minutes before someone had called to him for some other urgent issue. All that he left behind was exhaustion.

Samara. Samara was the only one who stayed, but there wasn’t any judgment there anymore.

 

“What’s the Major like?” she had asked at one point.

 

“Strong. He knew Shepard as well.”

 

“But that’s not why you came along.”

 

Samara smiled grimly. “You know very well why I’m here, Ms. Goto.”

 

Even without the plans, there was still a chance someone could see how the wires needed to connect. “I’m glad you did, Samara.” She really did. This wasn’t her war anymore, but there was still someone left. It was so easy to forget about that.

 

They didn’t talk again until after the camera started leaving. She didn’t allow for much. Kasumi had simply stood with a quick, “Bathroom,” before she started to trace its path. Samara didn’t follow, and she made sure, with some quick strides, that she would slip out before anyone noticed. It wasn’t hard, just into the right shadow and the right amount of silence. All she had to do was keep the camera in sight.

 

It wasn’t hard to keep out of its sight as well, only now interested in returning to its owner it seemed. What an odd thing to find among the wreckage! There didn’t seem to be much worth getting among all of the ruins, but surveying brought a few ideas on the owner.

 

The journey wasn’t long, but there was obvious care taken to stay out of the STG’s searching area. Most of the trail was the same as the last couple of miles, of broken brick, steel, and something ashy and ugly filling the nostrils. She had to climb over a reaper leg at one point, but that had been the largest obstacle. The metal was cold. If there had been any life there, it was long gone now.

 

Ten minutes in and it rounded around a half-stood wall with some pharmaceutical sign slung over the side before it finally stopped. Kasumi let the silence soak in for a moment, took in the drop to something colder, something damp, and then followed its path. What followed hadn’t really surprised her, but on the scale of nice surprises, it was certainly on the bottom.

 

Khalisah Al-Jilani wasn’t surprised to see her, that much was for sure. She glanced once in her direction before pressing on the camera’s side, retrieving a disc from one of its open slots.  “Well, that was risky,” she finally noted as she slipped the disc in a bag beside her. A quick look was enough to tell Kasumi the journalist had settled herself nicely there, with a small tent, nice artificial material for the weather, small fire. She’d been there for a while. “Notorious criminal disappears after strangely being okay with surrendering her weapons? I’d might think twice about going back.”

 

“And you recording wasn’t?”

 

“They don’t know I’m here, Ms. Goto. I intend to keep it that way.”

 

Not surprising. Kasumi glanced to her bag, mouth twitching. This was material for something else then, more damaging. If it hadn’t been her face, she’d might have agreed with the idea. “They won’t if you give that to me.”

 

Khalisah smirked. “Nervous? It was a little stupid for you to go.”

 

“I’m sure the whole thief thing paints the idea of being an abandoning, back-stabbing scoundrel, but I do have my few obligations.”

 

She waved it off and retreated back toward the tent with the bag, slipping it inside and finalizing her answer with a zip. So the disc wasn’t coming with Kasumi then. Great. “So,” she began as she sat by the small fire. The invitation to join her only seemed to be implied, “Why was the consort there?”

 

“Er. The kindness of her heart?”

 

“Oh. _Sure_. And you’ll tell me she just happened to be walking by when the threats started.” Shit. “As fun as this is, I’m not stupid. I could use you.” It shouldn’t have surprised her that they came with the same strategy in mind, but there was still something infinitely frustrating about it. It was always easier when she could catch someone off-guard. “They’re there digging, and I want to make sure they’ll think twice if they find something interesting.”

 

“Let’s give them another reason to kill me as soon as it’s convenient, is what you’re really saying, right?”

 

“With the right information? Maybe not.”

 

“I’m still the only one sticking my neck out there, Al-Jilani,” and she waved it off, made a big show to go, but the curiosity was still there, as much as she wanted to deny it. There could be weeks of recording there, a potential well of resources and intel for the taking. She wasn’t about to give her consent so easily without a good show, and assurance that her face wouldn’t appear anywhere else. “It’s only if you find something worth showing off, right? Then I don’t have a reason to come back. Just be careful~” She waved it away and began walking as casually as she could.

 

“Hey!” Khalisah called after her, but as far as Kasumi could tell, she didn’t move from her spot. “What ever happened to your grandmother?”

 

And the humor, the voice, everything died inside her throat. She clenched her jaw and swallowed once, twice before turning on her heel, showing the best confusion she could muster for that one singular moment.

 

Khalisah smiled with full knowledge that she had won.


	4. Cellphone's Dead (pt 3)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A deal is made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter one today. I've graduated now, so I'm hoping to focus more on my writing, fanfic or otherwise. Might as well between working and looking for work.

"You know it doesn't make sense."

They were both younger, fuller faces and brighter eyes that met each other. Well, Khalisah's did. She never lost the predatory, eagle-like gleam, ever the skeptic that she had spent many nights debating about with Keiji. There was never a point to her tirades, he had thought. Something that only generated fear. But she learned a long time ago that some of the monsters they raged about were very real, and came, whether anyone was truly ready for them or not. 

There were still creases around her almond eyes, which told Kasumi that she was older than her, though the years that were between them seemed so insignificant. No. That conversation had never been about truth, the nature and reality of her reappearance. 

She was two people. A thief. A woman. A woman that sometimes still seemed like a small, scared child that still rebelled when given the chance. Still tried to fight a master that wasn't there. Grief had something to do with that. It wound her up so tightly, left her with shreds of a stilted idea of herself-- something that was easily covered with the thief. But she hadn't been the thief then.

She'd been lied to. When she was picked up from the mud and the blood that had been casing her ankles, a promise had been made. They'd search for traces of her family, and after months, she was told there had been nothing left. Whatever her parents had left the colonies for no longer existed.

Kasumi had always been very curious, and never had really trusted the words anyone had told her. The batarians, Kiera, and dear, sweet Keiji had always taught her one thing: if promises were made, sooner or later, they would be broken. Everyone knew how to lie, everyone had something to gain or lose. Fear drove her as a woman.

"I don't want to be here either, believe me. Whatever you had been through is something no one needs thrown back in your face."

She didn't, not really, but even still, it wasn't Khalisah's fault, and really, it wasn't her aunt's either. They'd been told there weren't any survivors in the raid, perhaps to ease the mind on where their children, siblings, friends could've gone. The tears that fell so freely from her aunt had moved her, and though, perhaps, it was too much to hope for, she couldn't help the excitement inside of her at her aunt's promises. She would be taken care of. She wouldn't need to worry about anything.

A relaxing, retired life had been appealing, but weeks have passed now. And Kasumi was bored. Very bored. The hurt and grief had burned into an anger that wasn't being quenched by time. His death needed action, answers that weren't going to be here. But she hadn't been ready to walk away yet, and that day, all she could think about was how irritating this woman was, coming into a place she was trying to make a home, and asking questions that no one wanted answered.

They were happy that she had simply made it home, so it made sense when her aunt started talking to the neighbors about her niece's miraculous return.

"You have to admit there are a lot of holes here. You didn't just leave the batarians," she pointed out. Like there was something righteous about it. "I've talked to other former slaves. You're too educated, too... put together."

Oh, she had always known how to hide that.

"Why did you come back now? Why not earlier?"

She looked down, noted the rich purples and oranges in the journalist's dress. She'd seen plenty like it in high-class parties that she would wade through, silently or sometimes, playing along just to make the theft that much harder on the gracious hosts. It always drove them crazy when Kasumi would play guest. Khalisah had been to many that Kasumi raided, and she had always enjoyed the articles that would follow the morning. She had flair, and though she seemed to enjoy the living, was never so sympathetic with her targets.

She had planned to never see her again, so instead, Kasumi had remained silent. Eventually, Khalisah would get tired, and eventually, her grandmother came to escort her out of the home-- already a silent, brooding watcher by the doorway to ensure no damage happened during the interview.

Thinking about it, her and Sha'ira would've gotten along. They were both that strange, almost awe-inspiring sort of person that knew when to speak and how to sway minds with words. Even with age, her grandmother commanded the room with wisdom and a presence of mind. Even from those short, few weeks they had known each other before she died, she learned plenty enough.

But now, her memory soured with the sheer confidence that was plain on Khalisah's face.

"You think I wouldn't recognize you?"

It'd been too much to hope for, on what was already one of the worst days of her life. 

"It'd make a great story: the greatest thief in this galaxy coming out of slavery?" And the jeer was almost too much. "Maybe I should contact Mr. Kitt. He could make a nice, long boring play about it. Might actually be good."

"You've made your point. ... Please tell me it took a minute at least."

"Not really. Other than that stupid haircut you haven't changed much. It's hard to rebel against dead parents, isn't it?"

She tried to cover the grimace that formed on her face, but without her hood, it was next to pointless. "It's practical."

"Uh-huh."

They weren't getting anywhere like this, and this was a whole lot less funny and a whole lot less advantageous on her side. Damnit. Playing hard to get never really suited Kasumi anyway, not when it backfired so much. "Blackmail doesn't seem you."

"Flattery will get you nowhere, Ms. Goto. All I need to know is whether or not we have a deal."

"With conditions, I imagine."

"Of course. You get Intel from the ground, maybe cozy up to STG, and hell, maybe the consort while you're at it, and I'll keep you out of the footage. Maybe even paint you as an innocent refugee being falsely accused by the Citadel's puppets."

She shrugged. "That sounds fun. Why Sha'ira though?"

Khalisah quieted for a moment, her brow furrowing. Maybe to distract herself from the question, she stoked her fire a little. "... I don't think she's all she says she is."

It sounded familiar, maybe not recently, but whispers she heard sometimes when she simply watched. Some of them were bitter ex-customers, but others, it was as if they knew better, and were right to be cautious. All of them pushing the idea that there was something more about the consort, a dangerous aspect beneath the facade. Whatever truth was involved in that was beyond her, maybe one she didn't really need to know.

"You'd know better than most anyone, I think," Khalisah mumbled, almost to herself, "When someone's hiding something. I'd be careful around her, Ms. Goto. ... Just a thought."

"That's cute. My blackmailer's showing concern for me."

She shrugged. "No information if you're dead."

\--

Why did it have to be murder?

Kasumi had met plenty in her life, maybe more murderers than well... regular people. You present a death to them, and unless it's someone they know, it's always treated as business-as-usual. That's how it worked with the batarians, omega, illium, and even the Normandy. After 27 years, she could recognize when someone's hands were bloody.

Sha'ira? Not so much, and the fact that Khalisah had implied otherwise before she left had nearly been laughable to her. That was a weight to be carried, and while she believed the consort kept plenty of burdens to herself, the death of another was hardly one of them. It occupied her mind more than it should have as she made her way back to STG camp. She had been gone long enough to cause alarm, that much Kasumi was certain.

However, the reaction was... underwhelming save for one exception. The camp was quiet, peaceful in its stillness, only broken by the distant roll of thunder. They'd want to make it back before the rain started. She wasn't looking to get drenched, and by now, the others would've wondered about where the shuttle had disappeared to. Dinner wouldn't be anything spectacular, but the reminder that she would live long enough to taste it was tempting enough.

The squishing footsteps behind her interrupted her thoughts. "If you had a death wish, Ms. Goto, I would have provided the gun for you."

She turned her heel to greet the major, playfully smirking back. "I'm sure Samara mentioned where I was going?"

"Half hour's a long time for the restroom."

"And you're going to deny my basic needs too?"

He sighed, clearly frustrated.

"If you really thought I was doing something wrong, I would be in cuffs already. Or dead. Depends on how trigger happy your group is."

"I have enough authority to arrest you on the spot. Please don't make that a tempting offer."

So there was another reason they were refraining from it. Something told her history with Shepard had little to do with it. "Well. Sha'ira has a way with words, doesn't she?" It was a nice diversion, one the Major seemed eager to take. "How long have you known her?"

"I'd hardly call it that," he coughed into his hand weakly before glancing back to one of the tents, likely where she would find her escort. "... We all get a little tired of death, and a few of my men-- she seems to help them forget for a while."

"You sound almost jealous."

"It takes a certain sort of person to do what we do, Ms. Goto. You shouldn't forget that."

She hadn't, but this was a world that beckoned her. Sometimes it was difficult to remember that wasn't always the case. But he was good enough to be there, even to stand leader of some of the best operatives the salarians had to offer.

Kasumi laughed before roughly patting his shoulder. He immediately jumped and hunched his shoulders, looking back with a wild glance. She only returned it with a grin. "No one gets to the top of the food chain without a few scars, you know. Be happy it didn't kill you first."

He blinked once, twice before he sighed. "The same applies to you, I suppose?"

"You've already seen a few."

"I really should show this to Bau."

"Is he still around?" Now that was a name she hadn't heard in a while. Reapers tended to distract everyone, and faking death stopped most pursuits in their tracks. When she finished with Earth, she might have the time again to humor him. Maybe. 

"Oh yes, you seem very concerned about that."

"A salarian spectre would have access to your database, wouldn't he?" Or she could just delete it later. The damage with Khalisah was irreparable at the moment, but that little trace, if it was left behind in a server somewhere, she could find it. One person figuring out the whole story was enough. 

"Communication has been less than optimal for that right now." He pinched the bridge of his... nose? (Was it a nose? There were two holes there, not unlike a snake, she thought), and seemed ready to brush her off. "I want nothing to do with you right now, so stay out of trouble. You've said what I needed."

"About the crucible?"

He stopped, scowling deeply. "... Shepard may have mistrusted you, but I realize that you using those blueprints was beyond you, so to speak."

"If it helps, you put on a good show." She saw a flap move and the sound of laughter as Sha'ira exited, a look of relief washed over her face. "What's going on here then?"

Kirrahe shrugged. "If you really wanted to know, I'm sure you know where to start digging. Not that we'll make it easy."

It's why she liked them so much. Another day, and Kasumi wouldn't have minded staying, maybe with a nicer meeting, less cameras, less aggression. But the line had been drawn, and the clash of thunder was drawing closer. Kasumi could already feel the warmth of her sleep roll; taste the dying embers of their fire, ashy, gritty. It wasn't home, but it was much closer to it than it was here.

And the longer she waited, the more she knew lightning striking down Khalisah's campsite was extremely unlikely-- no matter how much she wished that destructive force of nature was driven by vain wish fulfillment.

\--

By the time they actually reached their own campsite, dinner seemed like the most unappealing event in the entire galaxy. The ride back had been quiet, but the tension of the interrogation and her own lies lingered between them with that sense of dread and foreboding that she always felt about big conversations. Big conversations meant confronting her actions, and usually, stuff being thrown at her, or tears. Ugh, she hated crying. 

She hated people crying around her. Talk to her about your problems all day, fine, but as soon as the blubbering started, she'd just grow uncomfortable. It wasn't so much unwelcomed, but a lack of really knowing what to do really curbed the enthusiasm.

Talking was fun, fine, but social situations weren't... really her thing. So to be dragged into a tight spot about her own history and nearly being killed for it? Not fun. Not fine. She skipped dinner, quickly and quietly retreating to her tent for the evening, just as the first few rain drops began.

Finding and starting the QEC had been done without thinking, but it'd been long enough she thought. Not since she contacted the others. She turned it on, made the right numbers, and waited for the static to clear up.

A turian greeted her, ashen white plate and recognizable charcoal armor. A smile eased on Kasumi's face, now more relaxed just at the sight of one of her students, and perhaps the rain too swallowing everything outside her tent.

"Urch."

"Hey, Boss."

"How are you two settling in?"

He stretched his talons out, and could briefly see a clawed finger or two out from the screen. The chair he was seated in looked much more comfortable than the cot she had planted herself on. The apartment seemed so much better right now, but no, she was stubborn about this-- for no real reason. 

"Well enough," he shrugged. "Neighbors haven't looked twice with us moving in. The volus next door? He mentioned you taking stragglers sometimes..."

"That's a long story."

"Uh. Okay." He tapped on the table in front of him, and hopefully, just took it as one of her many 'eccentricities.' That's what they called it, right? Being a boss, being a teacher was too often a role that seemed too big to fill, like an outfit most perfectly designed for someone that was like her, but still, still someone else. "Tianna's may have gotten a little carried away with it. You know she likes that Robin Hood idea."

"That's what you're there for."

"And what, exactly, are we doing, Boss? I didn't sign up to sit on my ass, while you go play charity."

"For all you know, this could be my home your shit-talking, Urch~"

He chuckled. "A dump like that? You wouldn't have last this long."

"Shepard did."

"Except not."

She was 29 when the reaper war started, still two-three years her senior. Instead of London, she hailed from New York, and tore her way through gangs and poverty to the Alliance, and then to the spectre that often was hailed as a martyred hero. The official history excised three quarters of her actual history and personality-- and even still, the gang part had to be dug out through weeks of searching through extranet files. 

When the Cerberus contract was offered to her, of a promise that she still kept in the duffle bag, tucked off to an unviewed corner, she wanted to know everything there was to know about Commander Shepard. It was natural for her own safety, and to know that the promise that she wouldn't be followed after the job was done would be one fully kept. The legend only told so much-- a quarter just shit that people liked to hear.

Talking did help. She couldn't count the days she would find Shepard waiting in her bedroom with a drink between them and a story to share. They were similar, except not, and the differences were enough to keep them entertained. She didn't make friends. It just wasn't something that came up often taking, but Shepard. Shepard had been a wonderful surprise.

She should be mad for how quickly Urch dismissed Shepard, but instead, Kasumi simply smiled. "Don't be surprised if she turns out alive a few weeks from now."

"A crashing space station would stop most people."

"Some parts of the official story is true, you know."

Urch shook his head. "I'm sure your sense of humor entertains everyone else, Boss, but it doesn't me. How's your sight?"

Sometimes the sunlight still burned, making her tear on the brighter days. Luckily London was a murky, dreary, sorry state of a ruin, and the rain had been a more present companion than the sun. "It's holding up."

He sighed in relief. "With you so close to where it all happened, I couldn't be sure."

"The wonder of a good doctor, huh?"

"And a good investor?"

Her frown was taut. There was only but so long before the asari would've been brought up. Before Kiera would be brought up. The name still felt stained in her tongue, enough to spit out the poison. "Has she been by yet?"

"So you expect her to?" He jeered, mandibles flickering. "That sorta honesty would've been nice before you went off, huh?" But then he unbristled and seemed to relax with each bit of the sigh that escaped. "The answer is no by the way."

"Then we're fine, aren't we?"

"Hardly!" Still, he laughed, the double-tone of a typical turian making it almost vibrate in the air. "Might I suggest not throwing away our one source of money and cover that doesn't rely on us getting it from work?"

"If you're good enough, it doesn't matter." Personal business was just that, and truly, she hadn't wanted any of them to get involved either. There was no avoiding it though, and the inch of her influence was drawing closer and closer to them the longer she stayed. Kasumi could bide time, but how much more could she really afford?

"That--"

There was a tap on the side of her tent, feathery-light, just barely heard above the steady downpour. "Ms. Maeda?"

"Oh. Company, hm? Should I leave you to it?"

Kasumi glanced over and could just make out the silhouette of Sha'ira along its side, stretched out to something almost monstrous, like old nightmares that haunted her as a child. "Yes, but one last thing," she glanced back to the screen with an eased smile. "Check on Khalisah Bint Sinan Al-Jilani. Anything that seems incriminating, I don't care what's going on, send it over."

He blinked. "... The tabloid reporter?"

She turned the QEC off, just as Sha'ira zipped the tent flap down. "Am I interrupting anything?" she asked as she poked her head inside. The crown of tentacles remained dry.

"You're fine."

The snap of an umbrella closing and Sha'ira slipped inside, gown trailing at her ankles and a smile that had suggested nothing from earlier that day. She turned with fluidity, zipping the tent back closed. "Somehow I'm not surprised your tent is rather... sparse."

"I like to pack light."

She chuckled and with a small nod, swept down to her cot, sitting poised at the corner. Enough to have distance but situate herself comfortably. "It's a common trend with you, I've noticed. You'll give a little, then leave plenty of questions behind."

"And you're so different?"

Sha'ira leaned back on her palms, staring holes into the tent wall in thought. Her lips curled again. "... Very well. My last name is Dantius."

That. That made her pause. "You mean that--?"

"Yes." The smile on her face was thin, veiled with thoughts that weren't privy to her. "I can't be surprised you would have been familiar with my sisters. You're different, certainly, but... they made a name for themselves."

"How can you be sure?" It came out before she could realize, and looked back at her questioning gaze with mental loops, trying to reach for the question again and take it back. "This could be some trick in the end. I could turn around the very next morning and take everything here at the camp." You could've saved someone who didn't need it, and make the biggest mistake imaginable. It wasn't so much that she would, given the chance, but Sha'ira. Sha'ira didn't know better, shouldn't have known better. She didn't like people helping her for the sake of it. It always came back later as something they could dig up, use as a receipt for a debt that hadn't been repaid. 

She may not have been a killer, but the motives that were kept tightly against Sha'ira's chest were too beyond her reach to be comfortable. 

"You didn't keep the crucible documents." There was that familiar smile again, almost aching and too much. "If you were motivated by greed alone, you would have known how much people would pay for those blueprints. Though, rest assured, knowing your limit is about all I know about you."

But a limit was just as good as anything. It meant the fingers weren't going to be pointed at her first, and every little action wouldn't be scrutinized by the people that knew better. She wouldn't be thrown back to the STG camp at every little impulse that drove her. It was enough of a realization to relax Kasumi, and to alleviate some of the pressure, she offered a teasing remark. "You mean knowing that I'm a notorious criminal isn't good enough for you? You're a tough one to please, Consort."

"You will just have to look a little harder, I'm sure." And what a pleasant surprise to get a tease in response. "Recognizing a point on a spider web doesn't stop you from being trapped by it... though it helps sooner or later."

"I thought you didn't see me as a danger."

She chuckled again, though this time it sounded rather dark as she tapped Kasumi's chin. "You've read too much into my words. You're an unique wonder, certainly, but to ignore your reputation would be suicide... as made up it may or may not be."

"You flirt."

"Now, now. You were the one insisted in coming into my home on first meeting."

"Workplace."

"Still an invasion of privacy."

Kasumi laughed. "Ohhh. So you're here for an apology?"

She picked at the sheets on the cot idly, furrowing at the color she thought. It was just a plain blue, nothing special. Perhaps that was why. "Reasoning," she answered. "Now that I know more, your actions then prove less..."

"Sensible?"

"Not quite..."

She was stalling too. Kasumi didn't know the reason, or couldn't quite explain it out loud-- not in a way that Sha'ira would be satisfied with, she thought. Still, there were only so many ways she could duck from those prying eyes, especially when they stayed in her tent. Maybe Sha'ira recognized that in some form, and that's why she wasn't pushing it. In the silence, she could see her looking elsewhere at what little was left in the confines of her tent, save for the occasional glint of metal in her duffle bag. Was her gun or the grey-box? Either weren't very good, but it was buried enough by clothes and a duvet for colder nights to stave away prying eyes. 

And really, what would be the point in saying anything at all? To anyone else, her actions would've been regarded as creepy and almost possessive, someone who could be seen as fanatical at best and malicious at worst. Yet an invitation had been made to her, one with an open hand and an open ear, and still now, Kasumi wasn't really sure what to do with it. Until her reveal as herself came, she should've been nothing to her, and yet--

"Tell me something," Kasumi began. "Did you even have time for me?"

"Then?" Sha'ira shrugged. "It's usually not a matter of if I have it, but can I make the time. To me, it was more important that I understood the motives of an apparent benign onlooker."

"And you knew I was?"

"Of course." She pointedly stared at her, a knowing look in her eyes. "The nice thing about being a public figure is that you learn that feeling when someone is watching you. Eyes boring into your back." Kasumi knew where this was going. "I will give you, having nothing to reinforce the feeling hid you for a few days, but that office is my sanctuary as well. When something is different, I will notice it."

She shouldn't, but still, Kasumi smiled.

"After I realized I had a watcher, I kept an eye on the items in the room, oversaw the accounts personally too. Nothing was touched." The smile bloomed and she saw it-- the mysticism there, the sort that trapped people in, but it was the sort that excited her instead. Indeed, indeed, there was something more to the consort. "To think, a thief wanted nothing to do with my items? You had stopped being a thief in that room. You were simply a woman instead."

Two people, and yet, still one identity in it with a hundred names in between. There was something true about her words, in the way she could stay in the presence of others and feel small, feel nothing, as she would blindly watch. She learned so much becoming part of the room, and no one, save for that one glaring exception in front of her never looked hard enough.

"What I propose here, Ms. Goto, is not knowing the reputation-- it's you." Her hand fell to her knee, squeezing gently. "... If you are comfortable, of course."

Her breath hitched and the sigh that followed came out more as a breathy laugh. "I have a deal then." The interest that sparked in her blue eyes was enough to push her forward. "Let's just... fucking forget the titles here. At the very least, those people out there don't know mine." Her foot tapped restlessly against the tent floor. "And you-- you need a connection here in this rotten place."

"Putting words in my mouth?"

"Am I wrong here?" She continued without thinking. "Even if I am, whatever. It's not important. You and I hardly that different from each other. So. I want to see how deep those similarities go."

The smile that was returned to her was at ease.

"So humor me. Please."

Sha'ira squeezed the knee tightly, relieving a sigh-- perhaps at a thought that she would ask for more. Truth was a difficult word though, and it seeped out every day that she still lived with bigger and bigger lies to fill. "Friends then?"

"Friends it is."


	5. Missing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kinda meandered with this one a little with an idea on how it ended, before a better idea changed that about two nights ago. I will also be adding warnings. I apologize for not doing so sooner. I've realized that's not really fair for anyone.

She liked parties.

It was sorta thrilling, watching how everyone around her unwound after a few glasses, let their voices grow a little louder, their emotions a little wilder. She was usually gifted with looser tongues that would slur something valuable-- whether a good tip for a heist or just a juicy story she could mull over or humorously share later. It was that little bit of madness and companionship that both unified and ripped people away from each other. 

The party in Shepard's apartment hadn't been so different, though Kasumi had never been accustomed in sharing in the festivities. 'Sharing' being a very loose term for it, if her own observations in how parties were supposed to be were any indication. When she was still a little foolish, still more green than master, she had been more open with her enjoyment, letting herself get thrown in the music and the drinking, and the dark, slippery temptation with it. But mistakes were easily sown in that, so even with a few drinks in her stomach, it was easier to watch from... afar. Sorta afar. Mostly just the cloak. 

Now though, her stomach was starting to churn into an ugly build-up of acid and god knows what else, and there was something sour burning the back of her throat, promising a more restless night once a bit too many drinks were passed, and people were a little too dead to the world to be entertaining.

She laid on her stomach against the soft sheets and mattress of Shepard's bed, trying to absorb its warmth so it could embrace her tightly and perhaps then, sleep would come to her. Another roll of her stomach promised little in that endeavor, though perhaps, Shepard wouldn't be pressed to move her either.

In fact, there was a small patter of footsteps, haphazardly followed by a thump against the doorframe. The stench of alcohol and whatever Vega was cooking in the kitchen was thick enough to taste-- bitter, spicy? something else with it, but nothing appetizing. Something else had been mixed in her drink. Dairy? Why now?

She didn't bother to look at the visitor with the new turning of her stomach.

"Kas~, don't tell me you're the first out tonight," Shepard whined, drawn out before she slumped on the mattress beside her, just an inch or so away. She wiggled a moment before setting her chin on her palms and presenting a stern pout to Kasumi. "I know you're better than that."

She shut her eyes tightly and groaned meekly into the sheets.

"Don't give me that!"

"Get a better bartender next time."

"What? Like you? Your drinks were too weak."

Kasumi huffed. "I could've given you ryncol, and you would've complained, Shep."

"Okay, well, maybe." A brief pause then, introspective if Shepard had the capacity for it at the moment. She was a little doubtful of it, but still, her face had drawn into itself, something frustrated and pensive before she sank fully in the mattress with a long, drawn out sigh. "There is one thing you have over Vega."

"The ability to break into a casino without some double-agent bumbling through it?"

"You tell better stories," she gave her a silly smile, even though the hushed voice gave away all the exhaustion that seemed to just come with the act of laying down-- traces of a yawn being pushed back. "You're not afraid to talk yourself down a little bit for the sake of a good time-- or to admit when you lost."

"I think I told you a little too much honestly."

She laughed and turned her head to face her, excitement brimming in her eyes. "Can you tell me one now? Just for old times."

"How long has it been?"

"Mmm. Seven mo-- no eight. Or was it nine?"

"The war seems to stretch forever, huh?"

She waved a finger, tsking with a stern frown. It looked even more ridiculous with the flush on her cheeks. "No, no, we're not talking about that. This is my one night. One. Night. That I don't have to think about that fucking work. So tell me a story."

There were a hundred ones that they shared between each other, some with excitement and thrill, laughter between each other, other days more with grief. A lot of grief. Maybe for tonight, they could go with something in between.

"You wanna know how my eyes got so messed up?"

"They're messed up?" Shepard glanced back with the bright scarlet eyes, the glow something weird and unfamiliar, but still familiar with the way she looked in the mirror sometimes to see the glint of something amber. The laughter was so joyous that followed though, removing some tension that had came with the question. "So. I'm guessing a ship didn't blow up you and you didn't die first?"

"No. Not nearly as dramatic. Sorry about that."

"But interesting?"

She chuckled. "Please, Shepard. I'm one of the best storytellers in this galaxy."

\--

The rain had cleared, but the clouds remained grey, misty and dreary. Still, Kasumi felt... well. It wasn't often when she slept so well, felt a peace and quiet settle inside of her from the moment she woke up. Usually there was an odor of ash and metallic, something that triggers just enough to chase sleep away-- or a thought that would possess her, only leaving when it reached its end, usually in the form of an invention or a modification. Always something to do, to work.

But no. A good memory instead-- one of the last she had before Earth. She didn't know what having a family really meant, but the Normandy. The Normandy had been close, still is. Some of them were still out there. As distant as she felt, Shepard wasn't the only person she could trust on board. It would be harder to reach out, but she-- she was in control of that. They had no way to reach her, but she can. It was the nice thing about it all. Control.

She stepped out, lazy and still a little groggy, black hair brushed back. Maybe the drinks between them had facilitated it all, or the ease of the conversation from the night before had been enough to distract her. 

The streets felt cool on her bare feet, still a little damp from the night before and the morning dew, but it was really the best feeling. Even as a little girl, more servant than human, the earth against her feet was always a welcome comfort. Back then though, it had been in caverns that held the promise of fortune. Which meant hard, sharp stones and the bits of metals from tools that were left behind in their broken state. She still had little nicks and scars, though far too many and far too faded to count now at 28. 

The streets of London weren't so different, though at least, they had made some attempt to clear away the glass and debris around their campsite, making it slightly less hazardous to do so. Slightly. She doubted that if a shard of glass had been stuck at the bottom of her foot, she would feel it until hours later. On her feet too much.

There was a street corner not far from her tent, still with a little sign on it-- though the metal was so charred and nearly off the pole that reading it was impossible. Just barely a hint of green left. It wasn't a bad place to sit down and watch the streets for a little while, just before everyone would meander their way through the morning routine, and sometimes, eventually, to breakfast. It was still always easier to watch rather than actively participate, but her presence was there, maybe felt, and if they wanted her, they likely knew how to find her at this point.

The red salarian was relaxed, seated with his back against the street sign with a cigarette between his lips. His eyelids had drooped, still showed the sleep in his eyes if whatever little she could study with the amphibious glare in it. Now that she got a good look at him, he did look a little familiar. The web of scars across his face was certainly unique and he red tinge of his smooth skin was all too reminiscent of old rivals. He glanced over with her arrival though, and gave the best grin he could with it still in his mouth.

"So the recluse reaches out, huh?"

"I remember you. Sorta."

The salarian laughed before offering the pack of cigarettes to her, something she very quickly declined with the wave of her hand. Kinda needed her lungs. Good for cardio and all that. "We were on different parts of the project, I think. But I saw you. Even helped me out a couple of times."

"Did I?"

"Don't tell me you don't remember meeting the STG at some point."

Sure, openly once or twice. Usually in whatever clothes that had convinced the Alliance to allow her near all of the expensive and valuable stuff. "... You don't seem the type. No offense."

He took another drag before shrugging. "I was a medic."

"Then...," she struggled for a second before waving to the cigarette. "… Is that really a, uh, wise choice?”

“Eh. It's that whole cycle thing. I'll just make it up the next life. Your folks have that too right?”

“Sorry?”

“You know,” he waved in some direction, eyes far off to the distance. “Way over there. Where your name comes from?”

“The Japanese?”

“That's the word! Them.”

Why did she think socializing was a good idea? The heritage was a nice cover if anything else, or a set up for a flirty remark or two, but the culture was far removed from her mind, and by the state of the country, most everyone else's. Get the buildings back up first, and maybe then, she wouldn't have to be the only person worried about the cultural side of it. “I'd have no idea,” she said simply. “I'm not from there.”

“Oh.” He flushed slightly, a first for him. Guilt wasn't something that came across his mind often, she thought. “When you came with us, most of us just sorta assumed-- where are you from then? Here?”

“You like telling stories, Sal?”

“Sure.”

She smiled. “Make up a good one for me. We'll see after that.”

He scowled, and to her disappointment, wasn't so easily dissuaded. “No fair. I get that the Consort has her... talents, but--”

“You're gonna stop there.”

“Believe me, we've noticed,” his voice dipped low, mischievous, only sparing her a moment as he put out his cigarette. “You humans always have very tell-tale signs when... the night before was nice.” He grinned and stuck a tongue out. It took far too much self-control for Kasumi not to yank him with it. “How is she? You hear the rumors, but that. Well, I'm sure you know your basic salarian biology.”

“I think you've demonstrated your point well enough.” The voice came from behind her, but Kasumi didn't bother to look back, only tried to hide the satisfaction that came in Sal being caught, and fortunately, the conversation's interruption. Sha'ira weaved between them with grace and a well manner that was near regal in quality-- standing straight, shoulders back, hands folded between her. This was a steely demeanor that wasn't so familiar to her, and that in itself was a welcome treat. “Before anymore rumors start up, perhaps you can explain to the group that my intentions here are and will remain platonic.”

“Uh, Consort...”

“Please.”

He gave a small nod before retreating closer to the circle of tents, rubbing one of his horns in furrowed though. Kasumi sighed, slumping into the spot that was now vacant. “Thank you.”

Sha'ira's smile was thin, expression laden with heavier thoughts than she seemed to be willing to share. “Those rumors are just as damaging for me as they are for you,” she glanced back carefully, possibly to ensure their privacy in the matter before seating herself beside her. “I have had plenty enough with slander to last me, I think.”

She probed. Just a little. “Is that why you want to quit?”

“Among other things.”

“Like what?”

She stayed quiet for a long moment, refusing to meet her eye. It stretched out, tension rising the longer it stayed between them. Just as she had given up on an answer though, Sha'ira's jaw clenched. “Tell me. Have you ever thought of stopping?”

“Once.” There wasn't any sense in lying about it. Whatever consequences that would come from the situation had with Khalisah's blackmail. No details, but the skeleton. The skeleton always worked. “I forgot who I was, so I tried looking elsewhere. … That sorta life's not really for me.” It was boring. She was boring. And empty. The mystique and fun that came with being a thief was all she really knew, if it ever came down to it. Even now, she wouldn't even know where to start in trying to be something else and having it stick.

Sha'ira chuckled dryly. “I suppose in your position, it would be difficult even if you wanted to.”

“Honestly, could you do anything else?”

“I don't know.” Kasumi wasn't expecting the honest answer, but the way she seemed to withdraw as it escaped; she knew it couldn't be any less than the truth. “But I would like to give it a try, at least once. … If we become so wrapped up in what we do, I am not so sure we know who we are without it. Something tells me you already knew that though.”

She did. In other ways, some of it taken from her, other parts just cut away because it was inconvenient. However, she didn't know if this was the same sort of thing. Whatever reputation she gained that could be damaging, well that. That was good for her. It kept people from from following when they felt like it. “... Do we really need to be anything more than what we do?”

“If we weren't, you would be dead, Ms. Goto.”

That had been true enough. Their conversation from the night before was still fresh in her mind, and in a way, she ha been sorta honored by the idea of someone trying to get to know her underneath, but that was a rarely touched part of her, something that she had chosen to give little thought to herself. It was better that way for everyone, had been. Maybe this wasn't something she could answer for-- but lying always worked too. 

She could see the way she looked at her always so very often. It should've been patronizing, thoughts and opinions that not long before would've been bitterly fought against. Just that idea that someone could look at her with a knowing, yet gentle gaze. Promise was rarely held in someone that thought they knew their answers already, but the moment Sha'ira spoke, she couldn't discern the truth from the lies. Khalisah would call her a snake, but Kasumi couldn't help seeing opportunity in it. She did always like her games.

She was about to come up with a response, something cool and to keep the banter going, but out of the corner of her eye, she could see the priest shambling up to them, a hollowed expression adorning his face. Well, more despaired than usual. Sha'ira had followed her glance, and with a well-hidden sigh, stood to greet him. “I suppose we'll have to postpone this for later, Ms. Maeda.”

“It wasn't a conversation you wanted anyway.”

She looked back with a well-worn smile, one that did nothing to hide the exhaustion that she knew had been buried since they first touched down to London. It seemed so odd to feel for her in that moment, enough so where she almost had to wonder that the brief flash of honesty had been more for Kasumi's benefit than hers. It vanished quickly though, just as soon as the priest was within earshot. “Priest Darshan, I wasn't expecting a visit from you today. I would've waited closer to camp.”

“Ah...” He glanced Kasumi's way before ducking his eyes and giving a quick bow to both of them. A sign of humility from a priest? Those that she met would've never humbled themselves so quickly. There was a story behind him. She could look into it later maybe, if she could stomach speaking to him again longer than five minutes. “I had other plans today myself, but it seems we have a … a problem.”

“Really?”

He gulped. “Katul has yet to return to camp.”

“What? From last night?”

The priest nodded.

That was odd. That was the turian widow, eh, probably. That wasn't really in his nature, not when they worked together. Usually, he was the last one to come home during the day, and at times, she was long already secluded in her tent by the time he would return, listening to his heavy footsteps against the mud and asphalt as he made a pass around the campsite before finally retreating to his own cot in the dark hours of the early morning. He was one of the first to wake up as well, and usually, far out of sight before Kasumi could even become aware of him. … Well. After they finished the communications tower anyway. 

“Are you sure you just didn't miss him or something?” Kasumi spoke up, though she wouldn't stand, not yet. 

“He usually checks in with Marin when he comes back. He hasn't yet.” The... pilot maybe? Maybe she should've learned a couple of names before this whole mess started. She could see the taut lines of his frown though, and the way he seemed to fumble with his hands. Sha'ira as well seemed perturbed, but their conversation wasn't too optimistic in itself. 

“Have the rest of the group been informed?” Sha'ira asked.

“You two and Sal were the last to be told.”

“Split the group up and search around the campsite. We don't need to assume the worst yet, so please, try to make sure that the rest don't panic in the meantime.” She looked back to Kasumi for just a brief second. “I will search with Ms. Maeda. If you get the chance, ask Marin to take the shuttle to search as well.”

“Yes, ma'am.” And off he went, scurrying back to the circle of tents. They let the silence sink in for a moment before it was finally broke with a long low sigh that escaped Sha'ira.

“Sounds like you're boss now.”

She shrugged, shoulders heavy. “I am not sure this is a better role or worse.”

“No one gets better being boss, believe me. When something goes wrong, they're going to be looking at you.” She'd seen it plenty of times with Shepard, perhaps too many times. All of those expected and hopeful looks given to her, the idea of her just fixing everything without any problems or anything. And here they were, sitting among trash and dirt, and their hero was very dead somewhere in the trash and dirt.

Sha'ira laughed before turning on her heel and offering her hand to Kasumi. “Either way, my actions will always be judged. Perhaps it suits me after all.”

“Bitterness rarely suits you, Consort.”

“That rarely suits anyone, Ms. Goto.” Still, something about it eased both of them, she thought-- just that change in the name. Their earlier conversations were far from being finished, but for now, it was easier to simply set aside. Kasumi had never been one to dig too far in personal wounds anyway, because it invited others to do the same to her, and that, that was never fun. “I'll leave you to finish getting ready. Could you meet me by my tent?”

“Just need to make a call.”

“The turian again?”

She paused. “I was wondering if you heard that. He's a... a good man. Promise.”

“I wouldn't worry,” the smile she gave was quiet, soft around the edges. “I covered because I trust you. Though I believe you are intelligent enough to avoid instigating STG again.”

Sometimes she didn't think so. In any case, she was having second thoughts about having those programs run automatically like that, but the STG was always fun to use, whether as a source of information or a challenge. There weren't many places for her to learn still, not when she rested so far at the top. She kept her thoughts quiet though. Sha'ira had been too much of a gifted horse for her to look it in the mouth for the sake of it. Instead, they parted ways. 

Her tent wasn't a bad sight, sure, but her mornings were hers. It was one of the few things that remained from her old introverted habits. As cheesy and corny as it was, the way her morning shaped up could change how the rest of the day went. Her mind, emotions, ideas ready for her, and the time she had for herself to simply... be. As alone as she was in most days, she still needed to act a certain way, be a certain person, or death would be calling her faster than she would have to time to change it. That was mostly her, yes, but to have the morning to be and recognize all of her was something to be cherished.

She didn't have that here. It wasn't unlike having 11 other roommates, or hm, dorm-mates perhaps? Even Sha'ira was more of a stranger than the few friends she had made over the years. A cover for a few months, and that thought made it easier. Still though... it would be nice to have a little more space. 

She ducked inside the tent, breathing a heavy sigh, and resisted the urge to fall flat on the cot, as tempting as napping the rest of the morning could be. The QEC was easy to find underneath her pillowcase. It just sucked to make the call at all. If there was someone that could reach out farther than they could, solve this little issue a little faster, then she supposed approaching Khalisah wasn't the worst idea to have. Disguise it as a friendly warning and perhaps, she wouldn't try to use it against her. That would be nice.

Khalisah answered faster than she thought. Her demeanor was relaxed, but occupied with a pensive frown. It didn't surprise her to see that she was already primed and dressed like any other time they had met. She stayed professional at least. “Morning,” Kasumi greeted with a sideways smile.

“I didn't think you'd miss me so fast, Ms. Goto. I could spare five minutes to insult you.”

“Are you doing anything other than sitting on your ass all day and looking at that camera?”

“If you had my spot, you wouldn't move either. Spying is always better in style.” That she would have to agree with, but still Kasumi stuffed down her snort. She wasn't about to give Khalisah the satisfaction of it, not yet. “So seeing as there isn't a bullet hole in your head, I can guess the rest of yesterday went fine?”

“Excluding the whole blackmail business? Sure.” She waved it off. Deflection was a manner that was habitual for her. “Not why I'm calling though.”

“I'm sure it's important.”

“One of our group has gone missing.” 

“So the idiot got lost.”

“It could be a tad more complicated. If it is, I thought you'd might like the heads up. Just in case they notice a particularly bitchy journalist hanging around.” Humor. Always a good tool to keep people from thinking too much about it. She was smart enough to know that it was more than the warning for her call, but the warning painted the real question a little better. As laughably false it really was.

“The backhanded insults really show you care, you know.”

“I try.”

“And?”

She sighed. “The camera might be a little useful.”

“I'm surprised you don't have something similar already.”

“Confiscated, remember? You recorded the whole damn thing.”

“... I suppose I can keep a look out.” Oh finally. She was a little surprised by how easily Khalisah caved in to the request, but there was a heart in there somewhere, she guessed. It was just going to take a little digging to find. “You think he reached this far?”

“I have no idea, but you know, just in case.”

Khalisah sighed, and massaged a temple before abruptly switching the QEC off. Whether it was to do what she wanted hadn't mattered too much, she guessed, but the gesture had been made. It still... it wasn't like the turian widow. It wasn't like they talked every day, but something kept him chained to their group, and there was the debt they all shared. If something had happened to him... now that would make the trip interesting, but nowhere near what she wanted for it. Murder investigations were more like Omega's deal, and there wasn't much use, killing some worker out in the middle of nowhere like this. 

The sky was clearing up too. The sun would greet them later in the day, and perhaps with luck, an easier way to spot those dark plates among the rubble. She hoped for the voice that would return their greetings.

\---

“You forgot who you were once?”

She kept an eye on the ring of clouds above them, white and fluffy-- as if the earlier dreariness never existed in the first place. The concrete had a wet, dew smell stuck to it, leaving darkened stains against the brick. She caught Sha'ira stumbling once or twice through their walking, unused to the changes in elevation through their path. If she looked hard enough, she could argue easily that those flats were hardly appropriate for a trip like this, but there was something to admire about her adamant professionalism. It's not like she could say anything though. Traversing difficult ground was just as natural as walking by itself. She would slip through the shadows, no matter how high or low, no matter how comfortable it could or would be. 

The sun was harsher than she remembered. Each one felt different depending on the system, but Earth's sun seemed so harsh. Perhaps she was just a little sensitive to it. Working in the mines had always been rough with little water for comfort, but it was so worse when she was working outside. She had passed out once, back when she was... 11 years? 12? It was hard to say. Had some kind of fever too. Someone had prayed for her, poured water. The voice was heavy and gruff like a batarian's, but not green boots. Kasumi wondered who that was.

“Ms. Goto?”

“Once, yeah.”

“Are you worried?”

She wasn't sure if she wanted to answer at first. It was easy to shrug things off if Kasumi thought of better things, like the weather, and the way there were blades of grass growing between blocks. Life was easier to see in the small corners. “A little,” she admitted. “It doesn't seem right.”

“Out of everyone I thought that would do this, he was on the bottom of the list,” she hummed in thought before another misstep. She barely caught herself that time.

“And me at the top?”

“Nora.”

“Uh?”

She chuckled. “The drell. You should make a habit of learning their names, you know. It'll give you less trouble.” The smile she passed over to her was sweet, and made her seem younger than she really was. Maybe both of them in a way. “She has a certain... eeriness to her. I trust your self-control. I'm not sure I trust hers.”

“So she's offered you a bird?”

Sha'ira blanched. “Every morning... where is she getting those?”

She shrugged. “I imagine she was in ops back during the war. They're all a little weird like that.” Those from the Terminus Systems anyway. They all developed little habits that helped them survive their careers, and if not, they were dead long before Kasumi could ever be aware of them. And she always kept an eye for that sort of thing, see who could compete with her, who could become an issue. Not much trouble since Quarn though.

“So do you put yourself in that category?”

“Might as well. I might get less approval, but it's all the same in principal.”

“I imagine it'd be nice to get the government funding though.”

“You find investors.”

“With someone at your rank, I'm surprised you would need one.”

She studied her. “Oh, so you're looking for the person behind this? You're in for a disappointment: I'm single.” Good deflection, one to make things awkward if pursued. Kiera wasn't a fun topic, not something she wanted to talk about on a clear day like this, or to focus on finding their missing member. Thinking about it only brought anger, and questions about why she was really on Earth in the first place.

“Quite a shame.”

“What makes you say that?”

Sha'ira looked away, quickly and quietly. “When you have to hide so much of yourself every day, it can help to have someone you can be honest with.”

“You don't exactly either, you know.”

She laughed quietly. “That's true. But when you forgot who you were, do you think you were more honest or less?”

“Dunno.” There was less pressure there to seem bigger than who she was, but in a way, it was just another role that she had to play with. An escaped slave, or someone that seemed a tad more normal, put together than she really was. The pavement crunched under the sole of her shoes as the path sloped upward, a reaper-made hill in the middle of the small neighborhood street. The buildings were more intact than she thought they would be around here, only hollowed out by the wear and tear of war. She hadn't gone past the crest of the hill yet, but she had focused on repairing the communications tower for most of the week. It would be nice to explore a little, but another day, when there wasn't much else to think about. “I did bartend for a while,” she admitted after a moment.

“I bet you'd be a great one.”

“I hated it honestly.” Well, only a little. “I don't think I could ever do what you're doing. Just listening to customers there drove me nuts.” Now small parties? That was different. When she was with Shepard, that was easy, because if anything else, Shepard was easy. Give her a few ryncols, and she was just happy as a clam. Just needed to tell a few stories in between was all. 

“Oh, I think you could do better than you know.” She raised a brow with a small, almost cheeky smile. “Silence can speak better than any word. Just need the right mood.”

“I usually stumble on those. If I'm not trying to get what I want anyway.”

“You have far less chances than I do, I suppose.”

There wasn't much point behind it. It was easier to observe and let people talk for her, but... she got it in a way. Someone was going to react differently in a high-class party than they would be meeting in a back-end alley within the depths of Omega. She looked for people in different places for different sorts of information. But to involve herself personally in the conversation meant giving information that she wasn't willing to let go. Lying helped with that certainly, but she never found a verbal game as helpful as just sitting and waiting. Someone else almost always saved her the trouble.

Now this was... Verbal sparring was a bit too serious of a phrase, as if she was looking to win a game-- though she sorta was with Khalisah, but Sha'ira had been different. Not quite socializing, but something close to it. The idea of a friendship wasn't undesirable, but there was a slow-moving waltz between them between the little gives and deflections. She just wasn't sure who was leading. Though sometimes, and only sometimes, it wasn't so bad just swaying along with the rhythm.

Over the hill wasn't so different from the blocks that they had wandered through before, except Kasumi could at least note that it seemed more put together than the other streets. A reaper corpse blocked the street from across, nearly completely demolishing the buildings that served as its bed. While the left building was impossible to slip inside, the right... there was something oddly colorful about it, over by an outstretched claw.

“What is that?”

Sha'ira squinted for a moment. “I admit, I haven't been this far out myself. … Who knows? Maybe he'll be over there.”

She laughed. “I don't think we need an excuse for it, sweet as it is.” Anything colorful that stood out in a city like this was well worth checking out. And truly there was a marvelous series of colors against the walls, reds, blues, oranges, yellows. She wasn't so idealistic as to think that some street art survived this whole mess, but still maybe something intimate-- something to remind her that life was there. In that sense, Kasumi couldn't help how her pace quickened to the sight, to so quickly want to see something that was familiar to her, more akin to her nature.

What awaited them was so much more intimate than she expected. The lines of colors were names, dates that followed one another. The first, at the top of the wall was from an Alliance soldier, sergeant, dated two weeks after the reapers touched down London, and then it followed afterward of different names, different races of not just humans, but every sort in the galaxy. She traced a delicate finger against the lettering as it went down the wall, mouthing each new name that she copied. A sign of life here-- just as she had been hoping for, but not just life, but their survival through the impossible. Was it a checkpoint for others? Just a small thought left behind to let people know they weren't alone? The latter seemed likely as the names continued past the actual war. 

A name stopped her, about midway through. Nobuo Kurosawa. It didn't seem likely, but there it was, sometime back in February. Ah, for another day perhaps. She felt the eyes watching her, and could imagine the easy, slow content look that would spread on Sha'ira's face.

“Find something you like?”

She stood, brushing off her pants. She could still smell the chalk, and just that small simple reminder could almost make her forget what surrounded it, and what she was actually doing out there. “If only I could take it with me, but no... it should stay here.”

“So the rumors didn't exaggerate your sentimentality with art.” She stepped up beside her, arms behind her back with a pleased look in her eyes. “I'm a little relieved to know this.”

If she had the dignity, she probably would've blushed. Probably. Instead, she grinned. “Do you mind taking a picture with it? Ah... Souvenir.”

She laughed before standing by the edge of the graffiti wall. “You don't need to make excuses, Ms. Goto. I'm honored.” Almost immediately she straightened into the image of professionalism with her hands folded in front of her and a thin stoic smile replaced the earlier teasing. She took a few steps back, making sure that all of the names were in frame but still legible, while Sha'ira was still visible in it too. She was dressed plainly for today, but that in itself was fitting for the image. She couldn't ask for it any other way, though even as the photo was finished, it was easy to say that there was just a way that Sha'ira carried herself that made it apparent that she was... different. Perhaps she stood a little straighter, or the way she looked in the camera. When it came down to it, there were parts of themselves they could never fully hush away.

Her hips swayed just slightly as she walked over, the smile returned in full force. “I suppose it would be too much to return the favor later?”

“Maybe not. You'll have to charm me a little first~”

She laughed breathlessly, eyes wide. “That's quite the challenge, but... I think I could manage it. I know it'll be worth it.”

“All this over a photo? I'm impressed.”

“And how many of those exists, hm?”

“Blackmail seems unlike you.” Static filled her ear, and Kasumi quickly held a finger up to her before pressing against the earpiece. She could make a few good guesses on who it was. “Tell me it's good news.”

“I don't know about good.” Khalisah. Immediately, she glanced up to see if she could spot the camera. “But I found someone.”

“Turian?”

“Yeah. She's not moving any.”

Her brow furrowed briefly. “She?”

“Oh, well. Have another surprise, I guess. Look up?”

She spotted it, maybe about five or so blocks away. It hovered there aimlessly circling one particular area behind the crushed building. “How the hell did they get over there?”

“I'm sure you can figure it out, but if you don't mind--” There was a brief pause, then a shudder, one that she could tell the journalist was doing her best to hide. Oh, so there was a weakness in there, somewhere. “... This... This is not really my thing.” If she wasn't moving, Kasumi could guess easily what she was referring to. It wasn't good news, and it wasn't their guy, but she wasn't bad enough to just leave someone lying there. Who knows. Maybe one of their group members got trapped hunting for the other missing guy. It wasn't impossible, though she hoped the crushed building in front of them wasn't a precursor to more that surrounded the place. There were a few old skyscrapers that she thought would be impossible to rebuild in this mess.

She turned off the mic and looked back to Sha'ira, who had waited patiently during the exchange, the earlier light mood gone. She looked heavy, unmasked and showing troubles that likely awaited both of them for whatever was in store. “A friend of yours?”

“Something like that.”

“They found something then?” 

With a sigh, Kasumi began to lead both of them. Too much like business, and she had been hoping to get away from that for a while. This on its own made it difficult to leave the graffiti wall, as if saying farewell to a good, old friend. At least she could hold onto the reminder that the small signs like those were what made the trip so worth it. She couldn't blame gems being left behind, but the personal touches and stories-- those were the ones that needed to be kept and cherished. Not stupidity. Not being lost in a goddamn city and having the entire group go looking for you.

They rounded the corner of the crushed building, shimmying between a decrepit alley and the head of the reaper. As cold as the metal about it had been, just being near those things stung, and reminded her of old voices and recordings, and how even a dead god could still change the mind so gradually, so unassumingly that no one would notice until it was far too late to do anything about it. She hated those things, and perhaps she would for the rest of her life.

Once they reached the tip of the reaper, the buildings hollowed out, only leaving shambles of concrete for them to stumble over. It reminded her more of junkyard piles she'd see on old Earth vids sometimes with the way it seemed so haphazardly put together, but buried in the slabs, there might be a treasure in there. Certainly damaged by the disuse, but she wasn't unfamiliar with restoration-- a skill she had picked up through the early years of her career. Art wasn't always with responsible owners, and more often than it should, she spent time grieving for a masterpiece that was beyond saving. That was the true need for investors. Where her arm ended, another could reach out and take up where she left off.

“You seem tense.” Sha'ira's voice was distant, but after a good mental shake, she steeled herself.

“Just wondering why they came over here.”

“... It would be a dangerous place for someone accident-prone. Perhaps that was their train of thought.”

No. She still didn't like it. This was a trap waiting to happen, but no one had seemed like the type from their group. Kasumi wasn't stupid, and neither was Sha'ira. If she hadn't done some kind of background check before joining this thing, the consort sure as hell would've. A lot of them were weird, a little creepy, but not the randomly mass kill-y sort of way. So that left someone stupid to get themselves hurt and the salarian seemed like the only one dumb enough for that. 

The silence was suffocating, but that could've been more smoke somewhere, making London a permanent home for its stench. She hated fire. It was a niggling stupid thing to latch onto, but god it drove her nuts to see how other people-- the vorcha mercenaries in particular!-- seem to think it was the best solution to their problems. Fire was stubborn, nigh uncontrollable, and engulfed anything and everything. Not suitable for a delicate job like being a thief-- explosives included. Sure, there was a personal bitterness involved in it, but just, ugh.

Eventually they made it past the large clearing to a small row of more rectangular buildings (housing projects maybe, old ones; far too outdated), and she noted, just barely, a red light stretching from one end of the alleyway to the other. She slowed to a stop, scowl forming on her face. Sha'ira hadn't. She couldn't blame her. It was very close to the ground, designed as some sort of trip wire.

It was done without thinking. Just a step too close in those fine heels, and she heard the clicking of a proximity mine. She didn't say anything, just lunged forward and yanked Sha'ira's dress sleeve. She saw just enough of Sha'ira being thrown against the concrete behind her before the beeping stopped, and her vision had been filled with dirt. It was enough to blow her back hard against another discarded slab. There was a sharp pain, not unfamiliar in the back of her head and chest with all she could smell and taste was just dirt and metal and smoke. Through the ringing in her ears, she could hear the calling, heels digging into the upturned soil.

Sha'ira cradled her face, but the crying of her name was too far away to reach her.

–

“So was it from some Robin Hood deed?”

She wasn't a hero. “Hardly.”

“Oh. I like those stories.” Shepard studied the ceiling above her, one that likely seemed a little unfamiliar to her too. “It reminds me that you hate titles sometimes too.”

“You like it when I seem bigger than I am.”

“So what happened?”

Chotha happened. He was an icy color with this strong, calculating look in his eyes. It was one of the first times she ever acted like someone she wasn't to get what she wanted. Be the friendliest bunch and the contacts and intel would naturally follow, or so she was told. It wasn't wrong, true, in that by the time she was caught, his organization had been more hers than his, but that too, like now, had been a collection of mistakes catching up to her. Show a little mercy and it always bit her in the ass somehow. 

At least it had been easy to see it coming. As soon as she answered the dinner invitation and walked in, saw that turian sitting all chummy with him at the table, she knew she had been caught. It had been one of her favorite restaurants in Illium too, a swanky ritzy place that never asked too many questions and kept their head down. It maintained a very nice power structure that too often Kasumi wasn't on the top. Decadent with an emphasis on white décor and flora that was reminiscent of her few trips to Thessia, it had been cold comfort during the year she spent under Chotha's heel.

Out of the things she regretted inadvertently destroying, that was probably on the top, next to the prizes she had been forced to let go to survive. As soon as she sat down, the guns and the commandos came down. No one wanted to be alone in that sort of situation, not with all the guns pointing at them and just them.

Blowing the gas tank wasn't a bad idea, not when she had about five shots in her side already, and goddamnit if she was going to die so was it going to be that cloaca bastard. It was not accounting about the five other tanks that had been near it. And then, it wasn't so different-- that ringing in her ears and the sound of someone screaming, but there too came the intensity and the heat of the worst sun she could imagine. How it took so long to realize the screaming wasn't just them, but her too, and how even as the fire died down, everything was far too bright to see.

And of course, Chotha was still alive. Barely, but she had been told that he had managed to drag himself to safe company after the explosion hit both of them. And her eyes looked a little different now. And how that was how Kiera and Keiji met. 

She followed Shepard's gaze to one specific spot in the ceiling, the drunken, dizzy smile waning to a taut grimace. “... I was stupid.”


	6. Spark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kasumi spends time recovering. With everything quiet, some uncomfortable subjects come up. Inevitably.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. Much. Talking. I apologize for the lack of action in this chapter, but as the plot moves forward, we'll be seeing more.

Her chest felt tight. Why was it so quiet?

She didn't think she was dead. Probably not anyway. Kasumi had taken far worse hits in her life, ones that promised much more damage and much more deathy. Whatever light she could see through her eyelids was low and out of the way, the corner of the tent she thought. Two quiet voices above her, and though she couldn't make out what they were saying, they were morose and depressing-- deep. Whatever she missed in the mean time hadn't ended well.

The blanket was snugged tightly against her body. Mm. Warm. Pleasant too, like a home comfort when home was so very far away as a concept. She was used to that. Packed light, but brought the things that reminded her what she had to leave behind. Usually small things, like old novels that Keiji had surprised her with over the years they had been together. Others were... simpler. Blankets were always good for that, especially on the harder nights when the ship was far too cold and empty. A blanket brought more of something familiar, and perhaps make a portrait of a place that wasn't home but more, paradise. A vacation that's farther away from the worst.

But eventually, eventually reality would call back to her. Kasumi flickered her eyes open to see the canopy of a tent that wasn't hers, but similar. White, low-ceiling. There was a candle burning in the corner she thought, lavender and a mix of chamomile. Calming agents. Oh. So this was Sha'ira's. Suddenly, the paradise felt more like an intrusion.

She twisted her head and found Sha'ira kneeling next to her, in a heavy conversation with the red salarian. There were tools behind them, doctor ones, and a few medi gel applicators. Her head ached, and even the low light seemed too much. So maybe she had been hit harder than she thought. Her hearing seemed to be coming back at least.

“Ms. Maeda?” Sha'ira's voice was soft, remorseful. The harsh shadows that danced along her face made it seem all that more morose, but relieved. She could see that too with the way her eyes softened, and that. That made it easier to smile in return.

“Proximity mines are a favorite in the Terminus Systems.”

She breathed a small laugh. “You'd know about that, wouldn't you?” 

The red salarian sighed, and turned to the doctor's bag. “Then I'm sure you've heard the whole 'another angle and that would've killed you' lecture, so I'm gonna save it. I kinda figured that anyway. Any discomfort in your chest?”

“A lot.”

“Cracked ribs. Ache in your head?”

“Concussion?”

“Yep. Though to be sure have you had any memory loss, disorientation, mild confusion?”

“Just over how long you've been a medic.”

“Long enough. It's mild then.” He snapped the bag closed, and seemed satisfied with the diagnosis. “I'll leave you two then. I'm sure Sha'ira can give you the news.” Then he eyed her critically, a scowl clear on his face. “You're off your feet for today. That medigel needs to work its magic and all that.” Not surprising, but she kinda missed that awkward, scarred smile on his face. 

“Okay. But why am I in Sha'ira's tent?”

He ignored her, much to her annoyance, and instead slipped out of the tent flap. The silence was uncomfortable to say the least, and for once, neither of them seemed to be up for breaking it. Sha'ira's frown and furrowed brow easily killed any voice that would've risen in her throat, and the way she focused on the slow rise and fall of her chest told her there was plenty on her mind to keep herself occupied. She wanted to ask a hundred different things that could come to her, but looking at her, it was almost like she didn't have the right.

Still, she had to break it. “So... why am I in your tent?”

“I was closer than yours,” her mouth twitched, “We wanted to get you... situated as soon as possible.”

“Was it bad?”

“... No. The dirt made it seem worse. We couldn't really tell until...” She took a deep breath before finally looking her in the eye. There was an unsteady gaze. “I apologize. Are you okay?”

“You didn't get hurt any, right?”

“Thanks to you, yes.” She blinked once slowly, sucking in a deep breath. This had shaken her, and how she tried to loosen her shoulders out. How long had she been unconscious? Enough time to be dragged back to camp, and whatever medical practice needed to be done and not feel it. It had been more like a pleasant afternoon nap with a side dose of a headache and a little bit of heartburn-- not unlike post-food coma after a particularly noisy holiday dinner. She'd only ever been to three in her lifetime, once as an uninvited guest to Kiera's. 

Her bedroom window had been left a crack, and Kasumi had simply slipped in, and greeted the downstairs family as if she was an expected guest. Her mother, an old willowy matriarch with just as much fear as there was wisdom with those that had followed her, had roared at the mere sight of her and rose from her seat as a tall, brightly gleamed with biotics, tower. That matriarch never cared for her too much. She was much like Kiera, a creature of selfish control and careful planning, but couldn't see her pats the initial threat she had posed. 

Everyone was a little fragile once or twice to people you didn't want to be. It didn't matter if it was her mother, Shepard, herself, or even Sha'ira. Especially Sha'ira now. 

“You ever had this happen to you before?” Kasumi chanced to ask with the fact that neither of them seemed ready to move-- Kasumi unable to move. It was worth asking, to know, and perhaps give what little comfort she knew to give.

“Once.” The consort glanced away, fingers curling against the fabric of her dress. It still was grimed with dirt and what seemed to be a little metal shrapnel stuck in between. “The Geth had not been known to discriminate in their targets. Everyone lost something in that first takeover.”

“I saw what happened to your office.” It was an ugly, twisted mess. Entrance caved in, bullet holes all over the walls. Furniture turned over, and again that scent of gun smoke and metal-- blood. She could've lost more, but still. “Were you there?”

Sha'ira sighed. “At the start, yes. Nelyna and I...” And then just as suddenly, she shook her head. The tension vanished as if it never existed, and Sha'ira's face remained just as placid as ever. “It's well passed in any case, and I have made steps to... adjust.” It didn't surprise her that Sha'ira knew how to guard herself as well. To keep things tightly locked and key. Still, very disappointing. It'd be nice to pry open and see what was inside, not just have her under scrutiny from watchful, careful eyes. 

“Lost an aunt from it too.”

At the mention, Sha'ira immediately perked up. “So you do have a family.”

“Little, but I did.”

“I imagine not quite so eccentric.”

She didn't know. Not as much as she would've liked. From what she remembered, her mother was a quiet figure, gently chiding, and working hard. Did a lot of... pipe work for the colony, she thought. There were wonderful, tempting aromas of spices and something sweet whenever she would walk into her kitchen, and her burly bear of a father would be standing behind the counter, occasionally with a cigar in his mouth. Shipments from the Alliance. Always took one out on a good day. Her sister... she was an elusive image. One replaced by blood and fragments of bone. Long hair. She had longer hair.

“They were pretty normal, I guess.”

Sha'ira studied her for a moment, and she could feel how naturally her gaze traveled to that well-worn scar at the back of her skull. “That is surprising, considering where you ended up.”

“Normal families don't birth consorts either, Sha'ira.”

A long, thin smile formed, then a delicate hand against her forehead as she brushed the bandages just barely back to see the healing wound. “... I'm glad you're okay, Ms. Goto. It would have been a shame to see our arrangement end so early.”

“Arrangement sounds so formal. You have other friends, right?”

“Of course. Some of my clients can be worth knowing outside of work.”

“That sounds really boring.”

Sha'ira laughed before applying the bandage back against her temple, gentle as she did so. “Not everyone can lead a life so exciting, Ms. Goto. Though, I get the feeling I may last longer than you will.”

She hmphed. “Or have already.” Kasumi would do the math every now and then, when the days seemed to grow and twisted into a crazy, niggling wounds and betrayals. It was hard to see the old wounds and the new ones eventually, though she never looked too hard at her skin. The lessons stuck well enough on their own, and the catsuit, it was already like her skin. Stuck to her close enough to be. But now? Now she can look at her hands freely. See all the little lines that sunk into her palm. Little callouses too that built up closer to her fingers. The skin was smoother than she expected though. 

“Does it bother you?”

She didn't know. It was more like a pale hand that followed her, every now and then taking something else away, just to remind her that it was there. And eventually her luck would and her time would start wilting, and she would feel that cold brush against the back of her neck. Days where she begged it. Days where she questioned it.

A shudder and Keiji's old touch seemed so far away from her. Death always led to him, one way or another. And another part, gone. But it felt... necessary to keep him in mind, that little note in her head that no matter who it was or what was happening, no one was invincible. Sha'ira wasn't either.

…. What was she doing?

“Kasumi?”

She looked back, saw the concern glazing over her clear blue eyes. It wasn't unattractive to think of her the same as she did Keiji and Shepard. To think nothing could take them, especially if she was there to do something about it. But Kasumi had looked away long enough, and both of them were rotting somewhere. Shepard in the city, Keiji back in Bekenstein. Sha'ira would have something more dignified with the luck of not being a soldier like so many others that she knew. Maybe quiet. Maybe a disgruntled customer getting too emotional.

That sudden intruding thought told her to run. Run. But she swallowed it down this time and refused to look away. “My death is inevitable,” she said, ignored the bile sticking to her throat, “I already made peace with that.”

“And others?”

That was a question she knew was coming. The silence gave her away, and Kasumi knew the flow of the game by now. It was simply a matter of moving the game forward, another little piece and twist. “Tell me something,” she ducked the question, but no, she wouldn't give Sha'ira the benefit of looking away. “For folks that live for so long, you see plenty of death yourself, don't you?” She didn't respond, but Kasumi barely gave her the time to. Just kept pushing. Push, pry. Who was that woman underneath? “Does it ever get easier every time? You have centuries to recover, but when it matters, doesn't it always...”

“Yes.” She broke the gaze, and saw the small switch inside of her, reverting to the scared, small thoughts that crept inside her when Kasumi had first woken up. “... Death is an awful, wonderful fact. It will come before you are ready, and it will take what you love. But that, in itself, creates some of the most wonderful memories I have had the pleasure to hold.”

And she was locked out. Still though, she felt amazed by the response, unexpected, pleasurable. She could want more of that. “Why?”

Sha'ira chuckled, even if there was still a fragility in the air. “Because when we have learned, we take each moment, each greeting with someone for what it is, and we cherish it. How many times did it take you to watch someone die to realize that?”

She was just a small girl quivering away from beady eyes looking for them. “Once.”

“Once.” And those blue eyes were like fire. “Nelyna took the shot for me. Kept them away from me, and... she died.” Oh. … Oh. The archives she dug through had never mentioned that. Whatever had happened that morning, Sha'ira had kept it tightly locked. “I will have to live with the last memory of her... her dying. And her blood. That is something that will never be removed. In those instances, recovery may seem simply a relative concept.”

May? The possibility was still there, but in the depths of it all, she couldn't stop how much it hurt. 

“But we must, Kasumi. Not just for their memory, but for our sakes as well.” It was gentle, but noticeable with the way she shook as she brushed Kasumi's hair back. “I have to ask this... I am sorry.” No. She knew where this was going. “I saw what was in your bag the other night. Just enough to know what it was.”

“Sha'ira. No.” Not when she couldn't run. Not when she couldn't hide. “I'm the one whose supposed to cheat.”

The smile was more of a taut grimace. “I only do when I feel it is important.”

“It's not.”

She laughed. “They may have worked on everyone else, Kasumi. I am positive that Shepard, and you for at least a time, have disagreed.”

Kasumi still did. It was just easier to dismiss its presence when others noticed. Keiji was with her in a way that he promised, though never really, fully intended. It was a gift that comforted her when she needed it, and drove the knife inside when she wished for the reminder. That was not a place for anyone else to bring up, not without her making the first move. “Perhaps another day then, my friend. He's...”

That look. Sympathetic, but still, sad. “I understand.” She gave a moment's pause before standing up and brushing off the edges of her dress. It still had dirt, grime, and blood. She hadn't changed yet? “If you would, offer some condolences to Sura. … She might appreciate whatever advice you could give.”

“Uh--”

“Her wife is who we found. Thyra.”

Oh. Oh. “Sha'ira---”

She was gone before she could finish, in what Kasumi could imagine with almost a self-satisfied look on her face. Kasumi sighed, defeated.

It was fair, wasn't it?

–

The priest came by to see her first, QEC with hand. Before she could have the gall to reject, he raised a placating hand. “The consort asked me to pass it along to you. She is... preoccupied with other matters.” 

“I suppose she said yes to letting you come in here,” Kasumi huffed. But she never said yes to Sha'ira walking into her tent either. If she hadn't known better, she'd think the consort just took her grey-box and destroyed it herself. That would be a little beyond her though. At least, she hoped so. If not, this friendship would be ending very shortly. She extended her hand out for it, and felt a small bit of relief with the cold metal against her bare skin.

The priest lingered though. Again. “Ms. Maeda?”

“Hm?”

“Do you, er, did you happen to see the body?”

“On the count of being nearly blown up? Not really.”

“Oh... Yes, that would stop you from seeing the sights, I suppose.” He fiddled with his hands for a moment, only making them both uncomfortable before sighing. “... I'm happy to see you remained mostly intact. A former--”

“Stop.”

“It's a compliment to your resilience, Ms. Maeda,” offering a small smile in reconciliation. “Though I regret that it ever happened in the first place. You---”

“I know I can't forcibly throw you out, but I will try, and when I fall and start screaming, they're going to blame you.” He didn't bother to respond, instead bowing politely and tucking his tail to go. She gave the courtesy of a, “If you tell anyone, you're dead, priest!” just as the flap closed.

She unwound in a long sigh and tried to settle herself in a way that still made it easy to breathe through the unsettling pressure on her chest. A quick couple of boots and she was greeted to the familiar sight of static before Khalisah's face showed on the screen. The smile was smug initially before she got a good look at her appearance, she thought.

“Uh.”

“So there's a guy setting mines in the city. And that girl was definitely dead... or so I've been told.”

“You're taking this well. … You were hurt?”

“A little.”

She eyed the bandages with a well-worn scowl that paled her cheeks. “Right. Try not to do that again, I guess? Erm...”

The way it made her squirm was funny. “So, maybe you should think about telling the others you're here? Just in case they find you a particularly helpful lone ransom.”

“I'm sure you'll take care of it just fine, thanks.”

Kasumi laughed. “See, that's the sort of thought that gets you killed, dear.”

“If you call me dear again, I swear I'll scream your name to the nearest person.”

“Stay alive, dear.” And with that, she switched off the QEC for now. Khalisah was making a mistake, but if she managed to be caught in one of those trip mines somewhere down the line, it'd save her some of the trouble. She didn't like to drag people that didn't know how to fight in shit like that though. It was her biggest dividing factor when it came to the Terminus Systems. Whether a poor choice or not, others simply tried to live in those neon lights. And just as well, even underneath the veil of blackmail, Khalisah was trying to do the same.

Death. Death was a heavy hand to deal. Maybe one she could finally break and leave behind.

–

The asari came in later when the sun began to sink from the darkening of the folds in the tent. The candle had long since burned out, leaving a fragrant, slightly ashy scent behind. She had dozed somewhere in the early afternoon, tired of the uncomfortable unsettling movement of her ribs and out of sheer boredom. In a way, she was thankful that Sha'ira hadn't dug enough to grab one of her books out of the bag, but it would've been far better company than the QEC-- which she would only connect to a few friends anyway, subordinates not withstanding. So, instead, she slept.

Someone had come in beforehand. This, she knew. Delicate fingers had peeled back the bandages, an unsteady breath before a sigh of relief. It had been warm, and the quiet study had been enough to lull her back to sleep, but she remembered it. She remembered feeling the smile that had been left behind.

That wasn't the asari wife though. The tension settled in with her entrance, just the quick snap of the tent flap. Her eyes were brimmed with something red, and her eyes still looked glossy. A quivering bottom lip, and that lost, listless gape in her expression. Maybe Sha'ira was actively trying to draw those buried down thoughts and feelings, and this was her plan. Expose, and maybe, eventually, that mask would break. Instead, she just wanted to go home.

“The consort...”

“I know. Sit down for me?”

She hadn't wanted to be there either. Her legs dragged to the side of the cot, and she knelt down into something almost prim and proper, only broken by the curvature of her spine, sagging with the  
weight of her grief. She watched her with the expectation of answers, but that. That wasn't anything anyone could give. 

Kasumi sighed. “I'm sorry first of all. If we knew from the start, we may have been able to save her.”

She nodded.

“But those what ifs will always be there. You can hold onto them, or accept that what happened did.” She spent weeks wondering the scenarios. Maybe she could've turned away when Keiji had second-guessed the heist. Maybe she could've stayed with him. Maybe there had been a way to stop the bleeding. Maybe... But none of them brought him back now. Nothing ever would. Not without dying maybe, and if there was a place for the soul, she'd find him there. “And whatever I say here won't change what happens now. It's horrible. That love is.”

The asari furrowed her brow, and the gaze turned into stone. “The consort said you'd know. How--?”

No. She didn't want to talk about it. “That's not important. It... It happened a while ago.” She tried to grab what little advice and comforts she remembered those first few weeks, but she remembered feeling a torn, empty void that swallowed so much of her. Told her it was all for nothing if it didn't mean him. And it was such a scary thought, to remember how much she had put herself in him. 

Kiera's hands were warm as she tried to bring her back from it, but it took stripping herself down to just a woman, and putting herself at her aunt's doorstep that she realized no matter how deeply she dug, she wasn't completely human either. 

That wouldn't help the newly-made widow. She had no real comfort to give her. Why was she put in this position again? Keiji.... he would've been so much better at this. “I can't say it gets easier either, but... it's manageable. Remember whose with you now--- the kind of people that reach out to you. It may not seem much, but when it's at its worst, you'll remember them.”

“It... it gets worse?”

She grimaced. “You'll be alone. Eventually.” Then the cold would creep in, subtle at first but almost frigid with its loneliness. Then she would remember the steady pattern of his heartbeat against her ear, and the way he seemed to sigh with every second breath. And she would crave it. She would crave it more than anything, and the hurt was so indescribable. Some nights, it'd still sweep her, and today, it just seemed to be waiting. Just when she would close her eyes.

The woman stayed for a time, though for how long, Kasumi couldn't say. Just that with every moment, she could feel how the widow tried to pick up the pieces that were left behind. There wasn't any comfort to give, but hopefully, as she left the briefest of smiles with her departure, she left something to think about.

Kasumi wasn't good at it, and everything hurt so much more and seemed so much more raw now, but maybe, it would be worth it to see someone else step closer to better.

–

“You must hate me.”

Sha'ira only smiled.

“Why did you send her here?”

She unfurled her sleeping bag beside the cot, shoulders loose and free from stress despite what Kasumi was willing to guess was a long day. “It worked, I believe. She seemed in better spirits at dinner. Thank you.”

“You could've done it better.”

She settled herself with her legs tucked underneath her, amusement clear in her eyes. It was a better look on her. “You sell yourself short, Kasumi. The pain of a loved one lost is better described by those that have experienced it. Shut yourself all you like, but you have compassion for those that feel it.”

“You hate me.”

Sha'ira sighed, an amused smile forming on her face as she turned on her heel and scrounged an electric kettle in between what seemed to be a pair of dresses. It didn't take long for steam to begin to form around the spout, and the heat brought some small measure of comfort. “Does it alarm you to be able to relate to someone?”

“More that they could relate to me.”

“And why is that?”

She wasn't sure if that was a serious question or not. There was that whole being a thief thing, and she was... Oh. That was a thought she didn't need to get into. The day had been depressing enough, and all of the reminders had been so unavoidable. It was her fault, clearly. Whether good intentioned or not. They were her thoughts, and from the start, had never been meant to be shared with anyone else on this trip. She still remembered the look the asari widow gave her. How did anyone help heal that? No one could fix her problems, much less herself. 

But a warm cup was being passed to her, and the smile that was given made it easy to return, even if a little strained and tired. “Some pains you would never wish on your worst enemy, Consort. That should be reason enough.”

She situated herself beside Kasumi, and the smile waned into content as she breathed into the steam. “... I suppose so. From what little I could gather, I assume this hasn't been an easy road for you.”

“Oh, never.” She grinned. “But we reap what we sow, right? You don't rise up to your status as consort without a little backlash.”

The chuckle died into something more contemplative, the silence creating a thin line for her mouth. Had she said the wrong thing? It wasn't for her to think about, but that was part of making friendships right? Come up with something exciting, try not to piss each other off. But still, there was a gentleness with the way she looked at her. “And you have to consider the damages, don't you?”

“Not when I can count them.”

“Some scars don't show on the skin.”

And the circle came around again. She blew against the hot liquid, ignoring the underlying question, and hoping perhaps that the burning on her tongue would numb the rest of her too. It was a shame that almost never worked. It was a nice little thought to distract her, as if it was ever really possible to absolve all emotional limitation with the sip of something hot. There was the comforting edge of it, a reminder of younger times when magic seemed real enough and her mother's-- She was getting off topic. Sha'ira looked at her expectantly, either for rejection or explanation. Kasumi wasn't sure which one to give.

“You've serviced... that sort of thing before?”

“In a manner of speaking. The side-effects were discovered rather quickly after release. … It has been some time since I have seen a functioning one.” She took a chance in inching a little close to her, just enough for their knees to touch. “Do you have a grey-box installed as well?”

“Of course.”

It didn't seem to be the answer she wanted, because Sha'ira hesitated, noted how little her own expression had changed-- as if afraid at how natural her decision had been. “Did anyone speak to you about the issues that it can pose?”

Enough so. There had been a long, drilling lecture by Kiera, then a series of private hired doctors that had been paid just enough to install it but not enough to not be nervous about doing the procedure. She had joked that Kiera had done that in the hopes that Keiji would die during the installation, a joke that had been briskly brushed off. The both found the idea tempting. The ability to remember every secret, every memory whether on the job or between them. Every little bit of gossip and every detail of a person's face and mannerisms. If anything was forgotten, it was out of willfulness, but oh, if she dug hard enough, it would be there. “I have good doctors, promise,” she decided waving it away would be better than anything else, “You'll be the first to know if anything weird happens.”

“And the other one?”

“No protection plans for assholes splitting your skull open.” 

Neither of them laughed, but Kasumi was fine with it. She was fine joking about it because it was easier that way. Coping mechanism, whatever. It kept people from digging too much, but it didn't surprise her to see that Sha'ira wasn't impressed with it. “They must've been important to you.”

“Partner. He was my partner.” And the humor died with it, if it had been there at all. 

“I'm sorry.”

The sorry had already been repeated to her countless times before, and it had become almost as sickening as the mere thought of him could be. Revenge was a nice driving force for a while, using that anger and regret to one singular goal, to be thrilled to have that man's blood on her hands. Sometimes, she still relished in the memory of his face sinking and glowering as she removed the shield off the gunship. The evening would come though, and even with the comfort of the grey-box, the lack of direction had been stifling. She never really knew what she wanted after that, and that, she was convinced, was why she went on the crucible project in the first place. “You knew already though,” she said plainly, “Or you wouldn't have sent her in there.”

“I had a hunch that it had been personal.”

She felt tempted by it still, even as the hurt settled in. “So. Tell me, Sha'ira,” she began, “You let yourself fall in love once, and in an instant, it's all gone-- just imagine that briefly.” And still, Kasumi watched her carefully, noted how her eyes briefly flickered away, to a far-off corner of personal affects-- one she could see as an old photo of a younger, livelier her, standing side by side with a gentle matriarch. “You think you could throw something like that away? That's every piece of his life. As it will be mine when I die.”

“It's unlike you to simplify a situation, Kasumi.”

What? She had gotten plenty of responses about that thing, mostly from Shepard after a few drinks, and she had felt the need to say something to save herself from the guilt of letting her keep it. Shepard was perhaps the only person that had the power and her respect to take it from her, but even that, still, didn't start with something so off the rails. “... Why?”

“I can't speak for your partner, of course, but just looking at your history, to say that is all of you is...” And she seemed to think better of her wording, paused with a furrowed, thoughtful look. “... It's irresponsible. We all leave traces behind, and that on its own, can bring comfort where we need it. We leave our memories behind in others. That...”

She didn't want to hear the rest of it.

“That destroys every person that touches it,” and her voice shook as Sha'ira said it. “I have never seen anyone come out of that attachment unscathed. To recover would take even longer.”

“I'm going to sleep.” The silence that followed was nothing like Kasumi had felt in so very long. It was those clear blue eyes staring into her back as she leaned back into the cot, and feeling the concern cut through her. To be asked was nothing. But to have the sympathy? She wasn't sure if it was a thought that scared her or insulted her. 

Sha'ira hid a low sigh, and she heard the cot briefly whine and give as she slipped to the small pallet she had made for herself. The only thing that was left behind was a small graze at her calloused finger-tips. Whether out of apology or another small gesture to reach out to her, Kasumi didn't know. For the evening, it was too much for her to think about.

The long silence would be interrupting with the morning, and the startled and stern commands of a salarian that waited for them from the other side of the tent flaps. It would only be then that Kasumi would miss the peace that only came from a closed mouth.


End file.
